Kharn's Bloody Trail
by Azure Zangetsu
Summary: Kharn the Betrayer is at odds with his god's apparent choosing of a new follower. Joining the Guratin system invasion brings him to a finding that has lain hidden for ten thousand years, and only this new follower may see the grand scheme of things...
1. Chapter 1

Kharn the Betrayer stood atop the battlements of an ancient Space Marine stronghold with a leer and wide, manic grin beneath his corrupted Khornate-styled helmet. His entire body pulsed with flares of anger and hatred and pure malice to dominate anything that might writhe beneath his heel in an effort to preserve itself before him. His genetically-enhanced eyes scanned the interior of the stronghold, finding nobody worth slaying at the moment. For the past few years, bloodshed had been his at every twist and turn, every day another adventurous slaughter. He had drawn every color of red blood possible, and some blue blood from a few aliens. His grin widened at the thought. Blood was just one of those things that got his hearts racing and his bloodlust fueled once again.

In his armored fist, his axe Gorechild revved with anticipation, the daemon snarling within its adamantium and mica-dragon-teeth form. Its presence filled him with such emotion as to simply run into a battle and roar that he was going to slay everything in sight, and then do so indiscriminately. The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he grew even more excited. He searched eagerly around the battlefield once again, hungrily searching the fighting masses of Space Marines and his own eight detachments of berserkers. He found a worthy-looking captain with a heavy weapons squad surrounding him. Kharn found this to be pleasing, that he would be able to kill such men of worth!

The crazed berserker let out a roar filled with terrible mirth and leapt from the battlements, his entourage of seven Chaos Marines at his heels, all with revved chain axes and bolt pistols ready. Kharn raised his plasma pistol and aimed for the PDF troopers standing between him and his chosen foe's skull. The Guardsmen stood for not a single second as another squad of berserkers overtook them in a furious and frenzied charge. Kharn used the heads of one of his berserkers as a springboard and leapt up above the mass of his warriors in the middle of their battle lust. His heels pounded against the bloody soil beneath him and he continued toward the captain without losing step.

Inside this low-walled fortress there was a bunker atop the central hill, and three support platforms surrounding it. The bunker itself was situated in a tiny crater of sorts, where the captain was hiding from Kharn like a coward, directing fore support to the battle from a safe distance. Kharn would soon put an end to that, just as soon as he could get through this support platform and head up the rest of the hill to the bunker. He ducked a stray rocket and felt Gorechild shiver in his grasp, the anticipation building within the mighty weapon. Kharn cursed the nearest living thing as he leapt up the last few feet to the platform's plascrete surface. His ceramite boots thudded against the platform and a dozen surprised Guardsmen stared at him like he was the god Khorne himself! Kharn put a searing plasma ball into the auto cannon's handler and the man slumped to the floor with half his torso gone.

The rest of Kharne's squad arrived and they tore into the Guardsmen without question, even beating the heavy weapon into a pile of machine parts. Kharn was proud to call them his warriors, and he let out a howl in satisfaction. More of his fellow Khornate worshipers let out a similar series of howls and roars as another platform was taken. Kharn sprinted up the last leg of his journey to the captain, taking a few hapless PDF troopers with the butt of his pistol. He leapt upon the lip of the shallow crater and bellowed his challenge.

'Weak Emperor-worshipers! I come for the head of your greatest warrior! Provide me one, or you shall all be slain at once!" he roared. Within the second, a purple stream of laser fire streamed just past his helmet, searing the ancient armor set upon his body. He growled, knowing that these were not the type to let him attack their leader so easily. With a curse to their god, he jumped to the bunker's side and hacked down a Space Marine holding a heavy bolter. Ceramite ripped to ribbons as Gorechild shrieked with pleasure and satisfaction, blood gouting out of the Space Marine's newly-bisected body. The Emperor's servant hadn't the time to even scream as Kharn dug Gorechild deeper into his body, a gleam returning to his eyes when the marine tried to grab the axe as to prevent it from tearing all the way through him. His attempt was in vain.

Kharn cut clear through the marine's torso and his daemon weapon left the Space Marine's body with a whirring hiss. The disheveled corpse sank to the ground in two pieces, organs and all manner of genetic augmentation spilling out onto the ground. Kharn whipped his head around to find the captain aiming at him a twin-linked storm bolter. The Khornate Champion leapt to the side as a flurry of white-hot death sprayed forth from the powerful weapon's muzzle, tearing to shreds a berserker just entering the crater's mouth. Kharn swept his axe across the marine;s ankles, but his adversary was quick enough to dodge with only minor scrapes.

'Chaos-worshiping filth! Betrayer!' the captain hissed, drawing a chainsword from his belt. Kharn grinned and began to laugh uncontrollably.

'Good to see that you've heard of me! I knew your weak man-Emperor, and Khorne is a god nothing like your fool-Emperor ever was!" Kharn bellowed with rage and fury renewed. He leapt forward, discarding his pistol to take his favored chain axe in both hands. The captian raised his blade to parry and the two weapons met with a blinding shower of white and red sparks. Unfortunately fot eh Space Marine, his sacred weapon was no match for the daemon axe, and soon the toll of facing down such a fearsome weapon showed. The chainsword's teeth wore down and the weapon bellowed smoke. Kharn saw the Space Marine's right arm swing to put the storm bolter's muzzle against his gut.

Twisting in almost a boneless motion, Kharn managed to dodge the gun's flash of death and heard the frenzied death-cy of another of his fellow berserkers. Further fueled by the terrible noise, Kharn put his knee against the marine's chest with blinding speed and daemonic power, cracking the ceramite armor with relative ease. Blood sprayed out from the wound and the marine's strength failed for the tiniest of seconds. Kharn pressed down again with Gorechild, and this tie was rewarded when the weapon's nigh-indestructible teeth spilled his adversary's brains all across the floor beneath their feet.

Gorechild finished its rampage in the center of the Space Marine's chest, where Kharn removed it with a spiteful kick to the standing corpse holding fast to the weapon. Kharn swung back with one arm and caught another marine in the back of the neck, severing his head almost instantly. Kharn laughed with the favor of his god filling his corrupted soul and the blood of fallen foes began to pool around his feet. He looke dup at the greenish sky and laughed even harder, so that maybe his god could hear the laughter and join him on this glorious battlefield to rejoin the slaughter he had promised and given for so many thousands of years on end.

And as he looked back to the ground, he noticed that he was standing atop an elevator, directly on a lift that seemed to go to the interior of the bunker. With a grin, he found the controls and smashed them with the butt of his pistol, dangling from a thick set of cables hooked up to his power armor's exhaust and power pack. The three others with him were silent, but trembling with the thrill of battle, as the lift began its descent into the bunker. All around were wires and flashing lights and intercom systems of all kinds. Kharn paid no attention to them as the sky disappeared above them and the lift stopped to reveal that they were not alone in this place.

Before them was what looked to be a large hanger, housing several transport ships that were still running, servitors carrying various boxes and other supply items into them with an order that made Kharn's blood boil. This was not how it was to be! He needed disorder, Chaos! He needed the thrill of battle, the uncontrolled lust for blood! And he strode forward, axe and pistol held ready to do the work he wished for them. It was his duty…no, his privilege, his right even! To be able to draw blood and sacrifice blood to the Blood God! He raised Gorechild and charged forth, eyes gleaming with little more than blind fury. These weaklings would learn that their folly was not worth the price in blood they would pay!

Kharn smashed into one of the busy servitors, his heavily armored shoulder crushing bone and metal alike. The servitor was thrown aside and the contents of his crate spilled out onto the ground. Kharn watched as dozens of grenades rolled across the floor, and he laughed again, this time out of real humor. Khorne had provided him a means of spreading blood all across this place! He picked one up and pulled the pin, tossing it into the back of a transport ship. The mindless servitor drones didn't even realized that they were being killed until an explosion rocked the transport, blood and oil spraying in all directions.

Kharn glared around, finding that more of his fellow berserkers had managed to break into this hanger from different entrances and were overwhelming the PDF troopers and Space Marine task force left to defend this place. Kharn searched for more worthy foes, and found a very interesting one in the middle of the room. He looked to be an Adeptus Mechanicus Enginseer, a crimson cowl over his head and the rest of his cloak flowing down to his midsection. Upon his back was a pack that seemed implanted to his very body, with two limbs rising from it. There were other smaller limbs as well, and several bodily augmentations.

This engineseer was fighting alongside three space marines armed with a chainsword and bolt pistol each, doing battle with more than their fair share of foes. Berserkers came at them from in front and behind, crying out curses and baying for blood like hounds awaiting a kill. Kharn raced ahead of his squad members and witnessed a truly surprising sight. The enginseer lashed out with both mechanical limbs and pierced the armor of two oncoming berserkers. Each limb raised the marines off the ground and tossed them away, whirling around to snap another warrior's head into three pieces not a second later. The enginseer roared orders, and Kharn found the voice to be too feminine, less baritone than he'd previously thought.

Grabbing the plasma pistol dangling from the wire hooked into his arm, Kharn managed to get a bead on one of the space marines and fired. The Adeptus Astartes blocked with his own pistol, the thing turning into a melting, useless, heap of slag. Kharn was close enough now to find out that the enginseer was not at all what he had thought, but had no time to think about it as the pistol-less marine met his charge, chainsword in both hands.

Kharn swung up with Gorechild and the marine managed to parry his blow, though at the cost of half the teeth on his blade. Kharn struck again with practiced ease and caught the marine in the shoulder with his axe, teeth whirring and ripping ceramite from the marine's paudron. This time, however, Kharn used his pistol to finish the job with a ball of plasma to the Astertes' head. Blood sprayed forth as the marine's thick skull was melted away and his brain exposed. Kharn rammed his fist into the exposed cavern and found that squishy brains awaited his fist, and no genetic implants. He roared again and kicked away the standing corpse, thumbing the Chaos rune so that Gorechild's many teeth whirred again with fury.

Another marine was overwhelmed by Khornate worshipers and Kharn leapt into the fray once more, swinging his axe cruelly into the warrior's side through his arm. Mica-dragon teeth bit home and severed the marine's arm, and then sliced the warrior in half in another moment. With the marines dead, Kharn turned to the enginseer for a fight. But the Adeptus Mechanicus lying unconscious on the ground was not as he had been a few moments ago. In fact, _he_ was not male at all, but a woman.

She had a Gothic number _eight_ electoo just above her robust left breast. The mechanical thing on her back had two large, gangly arms ending in a clawed metal hand with five fingers and another one with a grappling claw with three curved and sharp prongs. Six other small limbs wrapped around her body and acted as artificial ribs, piercing her flesh so that the augmentations grafted to her back had a firmer hold on her torso. On each thigh were four Adeptus Mechanicus symbols: a gear surrounding a half human, half machine skull. Her right hand was mechanical, made of a black metal and with clawed fingers, dripping with blood and gore. Eight wires entered her skin from the hand, all of them red and gold. On her left hand was a fingerless black glove, and she wore eight blinking rings on her fingers. Her legs were incased in what seemed to be mechanical boots that ran up to her thighs, each of them bearing four small, blinking bulbs of light. Around her were eight slain berserkers, all of them put down by her strength.

Kharn squatted down at got a closer look at her before one of his fellow berserkers raised his axe to strike.

'Blood for the Blood God!' he roared. Kharn flipped his pistol against the berserker's head and fired, turning the warrior's helm and head into slag. Kharn stood back up and searched the immediate circle of warriors for any who might defy him in a similar manner. They all stared silently at him, trembling as they awaited new orders of slaughter and bloodletting. Kharn turned his gaze back to the woman, not sure of what to do.

'Bloodmaster,' spoke Veridun, one of Kharn's favored companions. 'What of the mechanicus cult woman?' he questioned.

'She bears eight artificial limbs, eight wires in her hand, the symbol of eight, eight tattoos, eight artificial fingers, eight rings, eight red bulbs on her legs, and eight slain warriors about her. Eight of sacred eight. Khorne's favor is with her, and she shall be a fine warrior for me to slay,' he stated, watching the woman. He realized now why she had been knocked unconscious. The chains wrapped around his left forearm had beaten her unconscious, a side effect from the attack against the final marine with Gorechild. The woman's organic eye opened and she stared directly into Kharn's soul, or so it felt to the Chaos Marine.

'Data retrieval, file three five four four one seven, Adeptus Astartes Chaotica, version Exemplar Cultus of Khorne. Data retrieval successful, uncorrupted data, proceed in backing up process,' came the emotionless, mindless chant from her lips. Kharn had it in his mind to kill her now, but the fact that she had eight sacred numbers of eight stayed his hand. Tiny Gothic script flashed over the green lens of her mechanical right eye and then vanished. The woman sat up, putting the crimson robe back to cover most of her breasts. She looked up at Kharn and tilted her head to the side curiously.

'Prepare yourself, machine-worshiper,' Kharn threatened, raising Gorechild.

'You are a Chaos Space Marine serving Khorne, god of blood, are you not?' she questioned. Kharn was frozen. What was this? She did not fear him? She did not plan to strike out at him, nor defend herself in any way? Did she plan to die here?! No, this was some sort of trap, meant to lure him into a false sense of security. If he touched, her, electricity might burn his flesh, or shut down his brain and kill him. She could have some form of hidden weapon waiting to blast him back into the Warp, which was an unpleasant thought at the very least.

'Yes, now prep-'

'You must be from the World Eaters Chapter, correct?'

'Yes! Now bloody fi-'

'Which means that you must be a champion due to the age of your armor,' she stated with a tiny smile on her face. Kharn fumed. He no longer cared what manner of hidden weapon she might have! She would be silenced one way or another: be it by his words or his axe!

'Silenc-'

'You are Kharn of the World Eaters, Eight Assault Company Commander,' she stated, flipping open the _Deus ex Machina_ book in her left hand and reading a passage out of it to herself, as if completely oblivious to the raging champion of Khorne before her. Kharn would have mistaken her for the bravest being in all the galaxy had he not known any better. She knew exactly who he was, and yet did not cower of run, but simply stared at her book and its words rather than at her seeming-iminent doom. This woman, whatever had happened to her while she was unconscious, had lost her allegiance to the Emperor and her hatred towards those who would kill her false god-Emperor. Kharn felt a malicious grin spread across his face.

'Tell me, woman, what you know of Khorne and your false-Emperor,' Kharn said, lowering his axe for the moment. The woman closed her book.

'Retrieving data files, one through three eight one, The Emperor of Mankind, the Dark Gods of Chaos. The Emperor is the savior of mankind, the Great Unifier who rests upon the Golden Throne and will on day reclaim his Imperium and save mankind from the brink of destruction. Khorne, one of the four Chaos Gods, the god of blood. Primary worship is bloodletting and the drawing of blood in battle. Skulls are taken to gain favor. Champions of Khorne are bloodthirsty and murderous,' she said robotically, a gleam in her organic teal eye. After the was through, she smiled up at Kharn faintly, as if awaiting another question.

'Which do you serve?' the champion of Khrone asked, gripping the adamantium haft of Gorechild tightly. He wanted her to say her own god, but…it was almost a feeling of wanting her to say Khorne that stayed his hand. He didn't have to wait long.

'I am surrounded by the worshipers of Khorne. My hands are covered with blood: by practical deduction, I am a warrior of Khorne.' She reopened her book and continued her reading silently this time. Kharn was both pleased and enraged at her statement and found that no matter how much he wanted to slay her here and now and take her skull as another trophy, the fact that she had eight eights and had stated that she followed Khorne made him relent and simply bellow a roar in fury and confusion.

He turned to the nearest warrior he could find, which was Durinak, and cleaved his head in twain with Gorechild, splattering blood all over the woman in front of him. She closed her book just before the shower of blood rained down upon her and covered her entire form. Kharn laughed maniacally once again and his warriors did so with him at a moment's notice. Gorechild completely severed Durinak's head, left shoulder, and much of his torso from the rest of his red-armored body and the tow pieces fell to the floor in a pool of crimson blood and swirling Chaos energies. Kharn's eyes glowed red with the bloodlust Khorne had naturally set upon him. He glared at the woman.

'Your name, so that I may call you a proper fool when you die,' Kharn barked. The woman stared at him for a moment before licking the blood from her teeth. She smoothed out her blood-drenched black hair as she spoke.

'I am Kuria.'

'You are Khoria! You are a dog of Khorne, nothing more!' Kharn shouted back at her. She nodded.

'I am Khoria,' she corrected herself. Kharn fumed with ill-tempered anger and turned on heel and stomped away, his warriors and new convert to Khorne in tow. Back on his ship, he was going to slay something a thousand times for this! Not only was the thought of a woman following him infuriating, but one who was apparently favored of Khorne was even more so! Kharne had seen no visions, had no pictures in blood spread out for him to tell him of this! His god had not even told him of what planet to wreak havoc upon! He roared again in rage and kicked a corpse so hard that it split in half. His entire body trembled as he made his was back to the elevator that would take him back to the surface.


	2. Chapter 2

When back in the corrupted thunderhawk taking him back to his ship, he was pacing about, hands behind his back and Gorechild held tightly in hand. He trembled with fury and rage as his frequent glances fell upon the woman brought back with his warriors. Everyone else stared at her intently, thinking of rape and slaughter with every second their eyes were upon the woman. Kharn took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, trying to calm his aching body. It was not mortal ache of weakness, but the aching feeling of not being in the middle of a maelstrom of death. His ache spread to Gorechild, and the axe whirred with contempt for its master's confusion and anger.

'Damn you, woman. You won't leave my sight once we're on the _Blooded Hand_. Do you understand?'

'Yes Warmaster Kharn, whatever you desire,' she chirped as a response, digging her nose back into her _Deus ex Machina_ book and turning the page with a blood-covered hand. Kharn was mildly pleased that she hadn't wiped any of the blood that covered her front from head to toe. Her mechanized right eye glared at Kharn dully, its green lens reflecting the Khornate Champion's armored body back to his angry red eyes. He glared at Khoria, but he couldn't find any reason why he wanted to kill her! She really did believe that her life was devout to Khorne. She seemed to be loyal enough to him.

Damn her! He couldn't understand why he wanted to kill her! All he knew was that he wanted to! But…he wanted to let her kill, do be one of the devout worshipers of Khorne. He wanted to see her with a corpse in her grip! He wanted to see her with the same maniacal grin on her face as he wore on his while bloodshed was all around! He wanted to see her covered in the blood of the fallen, to see her become a Khornate Champion! And he didn't understand why! He was so infuriated that he wanted to kill everyone on this ship, himself excluded. This woman…just what was she? What kind of psychic powers did she possess to affect him so?!

Kharn stomped his foot as the massive view of his great warship came into view. His ship was a gigantic battle cruiser covered in red, leering daemon faces devoted to the image of Khorne. Gold lining was set upon the edges of every indention and face and massive cannon barrel upon his glorious ship. Upon the dorsal spine of the ship, there were mounted eight single-barreled hyper-velocity plasma cannons being fed to directly from the daemon generators powering his ships. A smirk appeared on his face beneath his mask as his eyes moved across to the bow and his eyes focused on the main boarding prow, made of neutronium and pure material of the Warp, making it the hardest material in the galaxy. Kharn beamed proudly at his vessel.

Turning to Khoria, he could see the awe written all over her face as she stood up and moved to the window, brushing blood-matted hair out of her face to get a better view. Kharn felt something inside of him swell like rage in battle, but it wasn't exactly something that made him want to kill, although it did do just that to a great extent. He growled at her when she pawed at the window with her mechanical claw.

'Go sit down, woman! Wait until we dock before acting like a fool!' he bellowed. Khoria smiled at him and sat down. Kharn growled.

'Your ship is a work of arcane artistry,' she said, staring out the window in an almost longing manner. Kharn wasn't at all surprised by this. The Adeptus Mechanicus of his generation had been, quite literally, in love with their creations of the mechanized kind. Kharn hadn't the slightest clue why they loved machines to such an extent, or why they worshiped a god that hadn't yet done anything so long as humanity had been a race, but what did he know? He was only beyond ten millennia old for Khorne's sake!

He returned to the door of the thunderhawk and the pilot declared over the intercom that they were about to dock with the _Blooded Hand_. Kharn growled for the pilot and the others to hurry up or he would pilot the vehicle himself. Kharn wasn't one of the mindless followers of Khorne. He was not one of the great many World Eaters that had succumbed to the sheer weight of bloodlust and gone into such a void of insanity that they had no sense left. No, Kharn refused to let his inner daemons conquer him, not after these long syears had taught him so much, such as the value of space craft and those who could man them. Yes, he disliked riding the gigantic fortress of death and destruction, but it was _very_ amusing to bomb a planet's surface to dust before landing and killing all who might oppose Khorne!

The thunderhawk neared Kharn's ship, but didn't take to the hangar for entry to the huge ship's belly. No, Kharn would have none of that. He was a follower of Khorne! He would enter the bowels of his ship straight through his living quarter's doors! The thunderhawk raised itself above another huge turret and the reverse thrusters kicked in, slowly bringing the smaller vessel to a halt. Kharn bashed his fist against the door and yelled for them to hurry up. He growled as the ship moved at a crawl towards the discharge breach of the massive combustion cannon mounted just outside his personal quarters. He glowered at Khoria and motioned for her to get up. She did so without a word and stood beside him.

One of the more unstable berserkers eyed her warily, his eyes never leaving her blood-covered form. His hand trembled horribly and the daemon weapon in his grip glowed faintly in protest to the slaying that was not being had at the moment. Kharn turned his head in a menacing manner and the Chaos Marine turned his head away, not wishing to earn the champion's ire. Kharn returned to beating on the exit ramp until the _Blooded Hand's_ crew had opened the airlock-breach of the combustion cannon and secured the thunderhawk to the gun. The boarding ramp slowly began to unfurl and Khoria stood up to take her place at Kharn's side.

The Khornate Champion growled, but did nothing to move her as the ramp continued to unfurl and soon the interior of the cylindrical barrel was revealed to them, blackened by the many explosive rounds that had originated further down the weapon's length. Kharn, even before the pilots gave the sign that it was clear to proceed, ran down the ramp with Khoria and the other berserkers close behind. Upon reaching the interior of the cannon, Kharn was met by a dozen crewmen going about their business in biosuits made for the kind of environment space proved to be: unforgiving. Kharn of course didn't need to worry about this because of his ancient armor. He barked commands to make the gun ready to fire soon and the crewmen began their work again, clearly afraid of their master's wrath.

Walking towards the inner working of the great cannon, Kharn noticed that Khoria was walking just beside him, gazing all around in wonder at the sheer size of the gun. A small landing vessel could have docked inside of the barrel, maybe two if closely aligned. Kharn made his way to the loading breech and stepped down from the open hatch, finding the familiar place to be calming of his furious nerves. He turned his eyes up towards the ceiling, where a large rack of firing shells was suspended by massive cables and metal ribs protruding from the ceiling nearly thirty strides above their heads.

Khoria looked around the room with wonder in her eyes. It seemed as if she had been given a limited amount of mechanized paraphernalia to fiddle with while she was with the Imperium. Now however, if she proved to be of any value, she would get to tinker with anything on this ship if she desired. Kharn realized what he was thinking, and shook his head violently to rid himself of the thoughts. He looked disapprovingly at Khoria and growled at her to stand aside to let the other berserkers into the ship. She did so without question and continued to look all about the large room.

Kharn examined his quarters just for good measure. Sometimes someone would enter without his permission, and he would spend days at a time rooting out the disobedient crewman and sacrificing his corpse to Khorne. Kharn enjoyed this place, with its walls lined with daemon faces spouting great fountains of blood from the walls into a long trough that lined the edge of the room to the door on the far wall. Everything was colored blood red and gold, every single little detail.

Against the wall to his right, Kharn examined the long work bench where he would sometimes tinker with different weapons, trying to create something that would bring more blood from a corpse upon impact. The bench was filled with a clutter almost too much for Kharn to sort through, and he was no enginseer either,. But still, it helped him simmer down to a boil when he was angry, and he got to shoot test subjects to see if his weapon modifications were successful or not. No matter what, every weapon drew blood, one way or another.

And in the center of the room, lay a set of large circular tablets, eight in all, with runes glowing on them. Each was stacked atop the next, tapering to form steps that let up to a large throne of red and gold and lined with skulls and leering faces that shifted ever so slightly. Kharn looked around the rest of the room, finding it pleasing that the intricate patterns cut into the floor were still filled with blood that flowed like tiny rivers before draining back into the system of bloody fountains. The entire place was as Kharn had deemed fit to be his quarters.

He motioned gruffly for Khoria to follow him forward, and she did, being careful not to step into the intricate pattern-work set into the floor. She looked hungrily at the long work bench, and Kharn snapped at her to keep her eyes where they were supposed to be. Her gaze fell to the floor and she reopened her book once again, probably out of lack of better things to do than of genuine interest. Kharn smashed the butt of his pistol against his temple to rid himself of the thoughts pertaining to the woman.

'Woman, you will stay here. Someone fetch me food! My bloodlust is not yet done with!' he bellowed. Immediately, the berserkers broke into a run and left the room through the great double doors. After they had left, the crewmen did all that they needed and then left as well, making sure that the combustion cannon was fully operational. Kharn shooed them away by chasing them about with Gorechild whirring in his hand. Upon slamming the doors shut, he turned to face Khoria, who was once again looking all about the room's furnishings of great red tapestries lined with gold and splattered with red gore from ages ago. Kharn stomped his foot on the ground to get her attention.

'Yes Warmaster Kharn?' she replied, shutting her book. She set the item down upon a nearby stone block serving as a table with blood candles upon it, all eight of them lit and glowing a radiant orange. She turned to him and her one organic teal eye looked at him curiously, her mechanical green lens staring blankly at him as numbers and Gothic script ran across its surface on a virtual interface.

'Remove your cloak so that I may see the extent of your weakness,' he commanded harshly, unlocking the plasma pistol cables from his flesh. They hissed and black and grey steam sprayed out of the connecting tube that ran through his arm and shoulder to the power port from which it fed. He tossed the weapon on the ground and set Gorechild against his throne. He then set to work removing his armor. Khoria easily slipped the crimson robe from her shoulders and balled it up in her arms. Kharn just then realized that she was naked now, save for a thong clinging to her hips and her thigh-high mechanized boots. The sight reminded him of a long-since forgotten memory. Something inside of him yet stirred once more, and he pushed the feeling down, assuming it was light rage at her mere presence and the fact that the memory had eluded his mind's eye.

No matter. His lust for blood would be slaked soon enough, and he would have this woman bleeding by the time they could start their jump through the Warp to their next location. A grin formed upon his face as he began to remove his armor. This might not have been such a terrible and outrageous idea to bring her here. Now Kharn had a plaything that he could bleed for days on end, and it could fight back as well. Still though, it was almost difficult to fight down the urge to cleave her into a thousand pieces right now and be done with it. He stalked closer to her, throwing down armor as he went. Indeed, this could even turn out to be a benefit for him…if he could stand to see her in one piece for long enough.

* * *

Sister Alexa Corialus paced around the bridge of her ship, the _Faith of Flame_, with a frown upon her face. It had been mere days since the distress signal of _Varidius IV_, and already the planet was in a state of utter chaos as the forces under the control of the Dark Gods ran rampant all over its surface. All of this had been started by one man, and ancient evil that had managed to survive the Assault on Terra nearly ten millennia ago. Sister Alexa ground her teeth together as the name of _Kharn the Betrayer_ ran through her mind.

She had been assisting Canoness Dalaria Mensk in tracking down the bastard traitor who dared to attack the Emperor's Palace all those many years ago. She uttered a sacred litany to the Emperor and succeeded in calming her rage for the moment. Still pacing about, Alexa didn't notice the member of the Navigatorum make her presence known to everyone else, the shaven-headed woman's entourage of three Sisters of Battle silently following in her wake. Upon realizing that her guest was present, Alexa turned to face the woman, who met her cold stare with a similar one of mild contempt.

The two had never gotten along well on long forays through the Warp, but they were both in the Emperor's eternal service, so they couldn't afford to be openly hostile for any reason whatsoever. Alexa stepped aside as the navigator made her way to the foredeck and scanned the stars as if it would help her navigate through the daemon realm.

Sister Alexa grunted and then turned to leave for her personal quarters. Further down the hallway was Canoness Dalaria, bolt pistol and holy mace on her belt like always. The woman possessed an otherworldly, cheerful demeanor while upon the ship. It was in stark contrast to her mood while she was on the ground, fighting and roaring holy litanies of faith and courage, summoning such fury in her comrades that many of them would fight where any of sound mind would have run. The woman turned her gaze to Alexa, and a soft smile graced her lips.

'We are to depart soon for the _Engrin_ system soon. It seems that Kharn has escaped us for now,' the sister announced to her superior. Canoness Dalaria tilted her head to the side and then her smile widened slightly.

"Sister, we are not departing to the _Engrin_ system. Kharn's vile ship has been located and we are going to follow it through the Warp. The other ships have been notified already and the navigators are beginning to trace the traitor's Warp markers. Very soon now we shall burn the traitor and his ilk with holy fire and rain purifying flames upon his carcass!' she preached with a fiery zeal in her sapphire eyes Alexa had only seen before while the woman was in battle with the forced of Chaos.

'Canoness, we shall be ready for departure shortly. Every sister here is prepared to smite this evil.'

'Very good Sister Alexa. Make yourself present on the bridge when we return from the Warp. I must return to my studies for the moment,' the Canoness said, stroking Alexa's head in a motherly way before leaving. Sister Alexa sighed and shook her head slowly while returning to her quarters nearby. That woman was such a mystery. At times, she was like a mother to all, and could turn into a daemon's worst nightmare in the blink of an eye. She truly was worthy of her nickname. She wasn't called the "Angel of Daemons" for nothing!

Aleka hurried on her way, praying to the Emperor fervently that they would be able to catch this traitor and bring him to purifying flames at the hands of Canoness Dalaria once and for all. A small grin spread across her young features. Kharn was as good as slain once they traced him through the Warp. There was no way he could withstand the holy fury of three Imperial Cruisers all at once! Alexa entered her quarters and the smell of incense met her instantly. She smiled softly and moved to the altar in the center of her spacious room. Emperor be praised! Kharn would be slain very soon now…


	3. Chapter 3

Kharn the Betrayer's ship, the _Blooded Hand_, left the Warp abruptly and the World Eaters Warmaster was thrown forward with such force that he almost assumed that his vessel was under attack. He quickly caught himself and leapt aside as Khoria lashed out with a mechanical arm, its three clawed fingers grasping thin air tightly. The blow would have taken a chunk out of his shoulder, Kharn knew that much.

He grinned maniacally and leered at the woman to whom he had given the god grace of a duel. She was faring quite well actually, with only a ceremonial knife in her hand as a foreign weapon. She used her body well, and her damned grav-boots to the virtual extreme by standing on a wall and keeping out of his reach, while jabbing at him with mechanical limbs. Right now, however, she was on the ground, and very much involved in their combat. Kharn wasn't at all surprised to find that she wasn't fearful of getting hurt, and had taken a dozen or so nicks and cuts on every part of her body. Most of the wounds had already closed due to her genetic augmentation, but a few still bled.

Khoria smiled at Kharn, causing his blood to boil ferociously. How he hated a genuine smile with all his being! He wanted her bloodlust to flow, for her every strike to urge the flowing of fresh blood! He desired to see the rage of battle in her eyes! And by Khorne's bloody blade, he would see it by the end of his days! He swept his blade against her, but she raised both of her dominant mechanical limbs to block. They held his arm in place and she lunged with her blade in hand.

Millennia of combat experience had taught Kharn a few good lessons that he would never forget. One of them was that his body could twist and turn in ways that seemed impossible to his mind. Still, he twisted in an indescribable manner and threw all his weight left toward the enginseer fighting him. Her lunge missed and the woman was thrown off balance. She toppled to the floor with Kharn on top of her busty frame. He pressed the blunt edge of his knife against the tender flesh of her neck and leaned down to her, staring into her teal eye through his helmet. She had no look of fear, only one of slight bewilderment at the sudden motions that had put her beneath him in the first place.

'Woman, you need practice!' Kharn barked, pulling her up by the wrist as he rose to his feet. Her eyes examined his well-muscled form. He was nearly seven feet tall, and his shoulders wider than needed to accommodate the height gained so many long years ago. His arms were like tree trunks, bulging with muscle and cables of sinew. His legs were no different, and if not even more muscles. Every inch of his body pulsed with contained and suppressed rage. The only articles of clothing, or anything of the like, were a loin wrapping of crimson cloth, lined with the finest brass and his helmet. After the splitting of his chapter, he had vowed never to show his face again to his brothers. Not that they cared at all, save for the fact that he could provide them with things to slay when they wanted it.

He held up Khoria by her organic left wrist, glaring into her teal eye rather than into the vacant green lens that served as a twin orb. He did not like to search someone's face for fear, only to find that they could not truly see him for what he truly was. He growled at her, but she didn't flinch. She simply waited for him to put her down before wrapping her arms around her bare chest. Kharn had yet to find anything that would fit a warrior so tiny. She was nearly a head again shorter than him, and with almost no muscle in comparison. But she had strength nonetheless, and he could see it in her when she had fought him. Kharn turned to retrieve his armor.

Kicking aside a plate that had recently held a huge chunk of raw, bloody meat from some slain animal, the Khornate Champion made his way to where his breastplate was lying. Khoria had received a similar plate of food, accompanied by a tube of foul, nutritional paste that the worshipers of the false-Emperor ate. It would keep her alive for the time being, until she could adjust to the diet of a true Khornate warrior. Kharn picked up the large piece of armor and threw it to his throne. He proceeded to collect the rest of his armor in a similar fashion. Khoria watched, completely silent as the Chaos Marine went about his work of collecting previously discarded armor. She fiddled with the ceremonial knife in her hand.

'Warmaster Kharn?'

'What? What could you possibly want now, woman?' Kharn snapped angrily. Before she could even speak, the _Blooded Hand_ shook violently and threw Kharn off his feet and toward the wall to his right. Flying through the air for nearly fifteen strides, Kharn managed to grab the intricate patterned floor moulds and stop his uncontrolled motion. Angrily, he let out a snarl at the woman standing now just three strides from him. How he wanted to rip her arms off and beat her to death with them! She hadn't felt the impact at all!

'That,' she answered calmly, pointing to the wall. Kharn growled.

'Tell me what's going on!' Kharn roared, getting back to his feet quickly and running over to where the disheveled pile of ceramite armor lay upon the circular steps surrounding his throne. Khoria walked behind him calmly, an almost pouting look on her face. Kharn glared daggers at her from beneath his helmet, but held his tongue as she spoke.

'Are you not planning of firing upon the three Imperial Ecclesiarchial cruisers that have just left the warp just ahead of us?' she pondered out loud. Kharn turned his angry gaze out to the wall that stared back at him blankly. He said nothing more, assured that she was correct because of her cybernetic link to this ship. He had no idea how she had integrated herself with the Chaos vessel without going insane…or how she had done the deed at all. Kharn's lips suddenly turned into a cruel smile and he raced over to his armor, clamping the pieces to his body with all due haste. With three ships against him, there was bound to be boarding action where he and Gorechild could wreak havoc upon these damned Ecclesiarchial whores again!

* * *

'All sisters in Sister Elia and Sister Rebecca's companies to the boarding prow!' shouted Sister Alexa to her warriors from the bridge of her ship, the _Faith of Flame_. All the sisters complied to her wishes, moving towards the boarding prow for boarding action. Sister Alexa couldn't simply have the Chaos vessel blown to pieces, because that could be potentially dangerous with all the taint within its corrupted hull. Alexa would board the ship herself and purge its bowels of the Chaos scum that resided within it. She could only imagine the horrors that were being pursued within the ship.

Upon that thought, she lingered for the tiniest of moments due to curiosity, and then the footsteps of Canoness Dalaria sounded out behind her. Even through the hustle and bustle of preparations for the attack on Kharn's vessel, Alexa could hear the Canoness' footsteps. Turning on heel as quickly as possible, Alexa met the Canoness' serious gaze with an almost excited one of her own. Canoness Dalaria nodded silently and walked out onto the foredeck to the large crystalline window before them. In its view, there lay the great red and brass ship they had been tracking for the past nineteen hours. The Canoness' lips pulled into a smirk as the prow of the other two Imperial vessels, the_ Banisher of Darkness_ and the _Wrath of Fire_, came into view as well. It was something that Alexa wouldn't forget for as long as she lived.

'Not long now, Sister Alexa. Soon, Kharn the Betrayer will be made to pay for his crimes against the Emperor with his life. And he shall burn with the rest of his damned kind in the holy fires of the Soul Furnace!' she exclaimed with righteous zeal and a fiery look in her eyes once again. Turning to leave, Alexa regarded the Canoness. She hurried off the bridge and immediately made her way towards the prow of her ship. Through a great many hallways, she gathered up most of Sister Oria's Repentia maidens and met up with the two companies already in position for the assault.

'Sister Alexa! We are prepared to destroy the traitor. What are your orders?' asked Sister Rebecca, the youthful officer eager to have her sisters gain much-needed combat experience and taste battle. It was true, sadly, that Rebecca's sisters were not as experienced as many of the other companies, but they were enough for now. The traitor could not have more than a few hundred berserkers upon his vessel, right? This would be the day Kharn the Betrayer would be brought to justice! Needless to say, Canoness Dalaria would be the one performing the acts of purity upon the traitor's body. Still, Alexa was utterly drowned with excitement at the chance to have a part in such a victory!

'Orders remain the same. Find and slay any who have turned to Chaos. Capture the scum in command and Cononess Dalaria shall deal with him when the time comes. Sisters, prepare for battle! Show no mercy towards the Emperor's foes! Death to the heretics!' Alexa roared over the din of the awaiting sisters and the ship's turbines as the ramming prow at its tip began to spin in preparation for the impact with Kharn's Chaos vessel. Soon now, Alexa would be in the throes of battle once more, and she relished the thought of putting down these heretics with all due swiftness!

* * *

Kharn thundered down the hallway, his bootsteps creating visible vibrations in the ceramite hull of his vessel. He wore a grin upon his face, one of awesome malice towards those who would do something so cowardly as to blow him up with gigantic guns from a space ship. Well, two could play at this game, and perhaps more if it was needed! Kharn kicked open the door to the bridge, stomping to the foredeck to survey his foes from the huge transparent barrier that separated him from the cold kiss of space. He glared down at the ship captain, Avaron Thull, and clenched his fist, Gorechild whining with impatience for blood to be drawn.

'How long?!' Kharn bellowed, lifting the ship captain by his collar. Avaron shivered visibly, but gave a reply quickly.

'Very soon now, Lord. We are nearly finished gathering the Chosen Bloodletters, as you have commanded,' the man replied. Kharn let Avaron's feet touch the ground once more and then gazed out among the stars toward the three white and silver ships streaming turning about to face him. The berserker was not at all pleased to see these vessels, monstrous epitomes to the Emperor's trust in his servants with such technology. Kharn let an evil chuckle emerge from beneath his helm. The Emperor's foes had access to this knowledge and technology as well, and the false-god knew it too.

Kharn flipped the switch for an ship-wide message to his warriors and servants. Without him asking, Khoria had patched herself into the ship's mainframe and had turned the volume of his message to the highest it could possibly be. Kharn glanced at the Imperial ships. They might be able to hear this as well.

'All warriors, return to the feasting hall and wait for the enemy! Blood shall flow like oceans when they find you waiting!' Immediately, he could hear the roars of rage and fury and bestial might emerging from every deck within the ship. Kharn did not even have to tell Avaron to have his mechanics do the same. Although they would not fight, they would not be cut down. Kharn still had need of them. Spinning around, he left the bridge with Khoria at his heels, the woman still fumbling with her crimson Adeptus Mechanicus robe. Kharn would have to find her something to wear. Perhaps one of the women he was about to fight would have the right armor…because it certainly was required to have _exceeding_ dimensions in some places. Kharn punched himself in the side of the head and rid his mind of the thoughts. And not for the first, or last time, he thought of slaying the woman behind him in the blink of an eye. He growled.

Still, she could prove useful if she survived this ordeal. Kharn picked up his pace and returned to his large chamber, where awaiting him stood sixteen of his strongest and finest berserkers. These were his Chosen Bloodletters. They were warriors who had managed, against the odds, to have intellect and the blind fury of Khorne alike. They were all equipped with their own wargear, different in the respects that the leering faces of gargoyles and daemons on their armor were not all alike. Each held a chainaxe, and Bjorn the Fellhanded had a power talon as well, testament to his brutal strength in battle. All the others had their own custom bolt pistols and trinkets. Kharn was pleased that many were trembling with bloodlust.

'Can we start the killing yet?' asked Luruk the Ripper with a hind of anger in his voice. Kharn bellowed great and terrible laughter.

'Soon, blood shall flow and the starts shall be stained red with the blood of our enemies. Blood for the Blood God!' Kharn snarled. The berserkers each cried out in rage and fury, waving their weapons around like they were weightless. Kharn stepped toward the combustion cannon that he had entered this room from, and two crewmen stepped away from it. Kharn already knew that the preparations had been made for the massive gun. The boarding pod had been loaded, and now needed its occupants before it could be fired into the enemy ship and discharge its payload. The rear of the boarding pod opened up in eight triangular sections and the berserkers rushed in.

Kharn and Khoria were the last to enter, and took their seats at the very front of the pod, which had just two open seats left. They strapped into the harnesses and Khoria smiled at him, revealing two pistols clutched in the grips of her two mechanical limbs. In her two "real" hands, there were two miniature chain axes, mere hatchets compared to Gorechild. Still, she had managed to bring along enough firepower. Kharn laughed at the puny weapons, but Khoria stayed silent, staring at him with that soft smile upon her face. Kharn very much would have liked to cut that pretty little head of hers in two and drink her blood. But then again, Khorne had some plan for her, and the Warmaster knew it deep down.

Even so, it did not help quell the feeling of rage he was nearly overcome with when he saw her smile.

'Lord, we are preparing to be boarded by the enemy vessel. Your final orders before you leave?' one of the crewmen outside asked. As the pod began to close, Kharn turned his head and laughed maniacally.

'Take skulls for the Skull Throne!' he bellowed. The pod closed, leaving Kharn alone with sixteen trembling berserkers and one calm enginseer. Never, in all his days in service of the false-Emperor, had he ever imagined such a way to enter battle. Sighing frustratedly, he waited for the cannon to begin its countdown to fire. How he wished to have a teleporter right now!


	4. Chapter 4

The _Blooded Hand's_ combustion cannon fired and instantly, the boarding pod filled with sixteen berserkers of Khorne, one World Legion Warmaster, and one Adeptus Mechanicus enginseer was thrust into the cold breast of space. The pod sailed across the airless and vacant separation between the two ships with blinding speed. It closed in upon its massive target with speed that rivaled that of engines of war meant for this sort of thing. Kharn the Betrayer growled for the damned pod to hurry up and reach its target. He never did like being in these cramped things for more than a few seconds. This was tanking far too long for his liking.

He looked out the small, circular porthole just behind his left shoulder in time to see the Eccleciarchial ship pierce his main vessel with its ramming prow. Anger and rage flushed through his body as it drilled into the side of the _Blooded Hand_ and then halted. Kharn growled louder this time for his pod to hurry up and smash into the very ship that had smashed into his own! The gap closed with appalling speed. Kharn swore that he would kill the captain of this ship and take their skull as a trophy for Khorne's great throne of skulls. An evil grin spread across his features and he watched as the porthole's view was dominated by the great hull of the Imperial vessel they were about to board.

Inside the pod, there rang an explosion like nothing any of them had ever heard before, all save Kharn. He recognized this noise and the impact less than a second later that would have thrown him into the opposing wall and berserker had he not been strapped into a thick harness. A glance at Khoria told him that the woman wasn't faring much the sores for wear. She looked a bit disgruntled and surprised, but not much more than that. There was the shriek of metal and ceramite as the Imperial vessel's hull was split open by the whirring chain teeth at the prow of the boarding pod. The nose continued until the pod was safely nestled in the ship's mighty hull.

The porthole just over Kharn's shoulder was completely covered up by the thick hull of the ship. Kharn unhooked himself from the harness and was jerked slightly as the tow cables connecting this craft to the _Blooded Hand_ rang, taught with tension. Kharn's only problem was that if his main vessel was taken, then this one could be cut loose and then he and his warriors stranded without a crew. But he had faith in his berserkers. No army could ever stand against their blinded rage and fury in close quarters. It was useless to worry about something that was indefinitely decided. Kharn watched at the pod's front swung open like the vault door of some great armory. Kharn and his berserkers ran out screaming for blood.

Kharn assumed the lead position as he and his berserkers filed into the enemy vessel. He made a left down a wide hallway and found three servitors that had probably been sent to investigate the hull breach. Kharn fired his plasma pistol and the first servitor was obliterated from head to sternum. Kharn let out a howl laden with bloodlust and continued to fire, bolter shells flying past him and taking the servitors to the floor. Kharn soon found that the servitors were not the only ones to have responded to the breach. Eight Sister of Battle impeded his mad rush, all of them with bolters held ready. Kharn gave them no time to even blink as he leapt upon them with pistol and axe smashing down upon them. Gorechild cleaved an arm off instantly.

The rest of his berserkers joined the fray, pushing easily through the feeble resistance like a hot knife through butter. Screams in terror and anguish sounded out as the sisters were quite literally torn to ribbons. Blood sprayed all over the walls and weapons clattered uselessly to the floor. Kharn nodded to his fellow warriors and rushed down the next hallway. He had to find the bridge and kill this captain for ramming his ship. This was going to be a bloody day for Khorne!

* * *

Sister Alexa and the other three hundred servants of the Emperor rushed through the boarding breech the _Faith of Flame's_ ramming prow had punched into the side of the Chaos ship. Their bootsteps were undertoned by hundred litanies of protection and faith the sisters had been taught many years ago. Alexa herself muttered a sacred litany to help her mind be put at ease in places like this. Inside the Chaos ship, the smell of ozone and taint was evident. It was rather strong, but not oppressing in the least. Alexa and her sister shad been trained to ignore the taint's smell and fight on. Their sacred talismans of divinity and protection glowed a vibrant gold.

'Sister Rebecca!' Alexa ordered. The company leader made her way through the throng of Imperial warriors and stood before Alexa with a determined look on her face. Being taller than Alexa by nearly a hand made no difference to either of them. Alexa was still in charge here, and her authority demanded respect that Rebecca immediately gave.

'Yes, Sister Alexa. Your orders?' she replied. Alexa's lips turned into a small grin.

'Take your company to the foredeck of this vessel and clear out the bridge. Disable all weapons on this Chaos-tainted vessel from there sister.'

'Yes Sister Alexa. As you command!' the company leader replied quickly. She turned to the warriors in her company still filing into the Chaos vessel. She pointed down the long hallway that led to the aforementioned area of the ship. 'Sisters of my company, to the bridge!' she shouted. Immediately, litanies chimed from the sisters and shouts of righteous fury resounded. Sisters of Battle piled down the hallway with their leader. Alexa turned down the opposite hallway with a grim look on her face.

'Sister Oria! Sister Elia! This way to clear the rest of the ship of its taint and filth!' she cried. More shouts rose up and the warriors of the Emperor made their way down the wide hallway. Alexa felt confident that victory was theirs. From what she could tell, Kharn's forces couldn't number more than a few hundred plus some crewmen that shouldn't be very well armed. They should be spread out as well, which made the job of picking them off easier than previously thought. Alexa still kept her eyes open for anything that might jump out at her.

Upon every arched doorway and intersection was carved a snarling gargoyle or a daemon face, moving just out of one's focus. Alexa felt a chill run up her spine and looked away from the faces, uttering yet another litany of protection. She felt calmer now and refocused on the path ahead of her. This hallway was slightly curved to the right, making it relatively difficult to use her dominant hand to kill any heretics that might be in the way.

And as if by some odd twist of fate, she heard the angry roars of berserks ahead. With a grim smile, she shouldered her bolter and the lead Khornate warrior raced around the hallway's bend. Immediately, he was turned into nothing more than a tattered corpse as a flurry of death met his charge with ten fold the fury. The other two berserkers charged through their comrade's gory demise and managed to leapt into close combat. Alexa threw herself against the wall to her right and narrowly dodged a chainaxe that would have taken her head clean from its shoulders had she not moved. The berserks swung with deadly efficiency, maiming several sisters before being put out of their bloodlust with the Emperor's fury.

'Sister, what of our fallen?' asked a young, teary-eyed sister. Alexa didn't like having to forget their comrades, but it was necessary.

'We move on. We'll honor their sacrifice with the purging of this unholy vessel and retrieve them later, understood? Keep moving!' Sister Elia pushed her way to the front next Alexa as they trudged onward, warily checking every nook and cranny for more enemies. They wouldn't be taken by surprise, and that was for sure. Sill, Sister Elia looked a bit uneasy.

'Are you shure about this attack? Should we not have brought up more sisters?' the woman questioned. Alexa shook her head.

'No, we cannot spare any more sisters here. Three of our five companies is enough here. We need to defend our ship as well. Chaos had all sorts of surprises, and I refuse to leave the Canoness inadequately guarded while we have a retinue of two hundred sisters with us.' Elia nodded to her superior and they continued forward through the hallway and past another intersection. Alexa had a bad feeling about this place. The heat was beginning to rise.

The Sisters of Battle soon found themselves as a massive arched doorway with a tangle of runic script etched into the blocks that made up its edge. The door was a massive daemon's face, mouth agape and filled with rows of fangs. Alexa had no idea how they were going to open such a massive set of double doors without heavy explosives. She turned to Sister Oria and the Repentia maiden nodded.

'Sisters Repentia, move to find a way around!' the strong woman roared. Her troops hurried further down the arched hallway, their blades ready to kill Chaos scum at any moment. Alexa narrowed her eyes when looking back upon the doorway. She felt much Chaos energy emitting form it, but could feel no change within her. Maybe the icon around her neck was doing its job? She looked around and wished that there were foes to slay. In the Emperor's name, she would be able to find someone worthy of killing. These berserkers surely would enjoy a battle, so why did they not simply come to her and do battle? She didn't see any sense in warriors, who desired above everything else to draw blood, hiding like scared rats.

'Get this door open! We'll simply push it open if it's unlocked!' Sister Alexa shouted. Immediately, two dozen sisters moved to the doorway and put their shoulders against it. The huge brass daemon face began to groan and creak as if it were shifting like all the other faces lining every wall and corner and archway. Alexa could see that the center of the face was slowly being split, and a tiny crack emerged between the great doors and Alexa could see something big and red behind them. Her brow knitted. What could be in here?

Suddenly the doors slammed open and Alexa's eyes were assaulted by a sight that made her mouth go dry and her entire body freeze up. She gazed upon a huge room lined with massive skulls of every shape and even some with protruding horns. The room had fountains of blood jutting out of the walls and filling great cauldrons that leaked over and spilled out into great troughs lining huge, skull-adorned steel tables covered with every kind of meat and blood candle imaginable. The entire room felt like a furnace, and it smelled of blood and gore. Occupying this room, were nearly three hundred angry berserkers, all of them trembling with ill-contained rage and fury.

The entire ship trembled with vibrations caused by the ear-piercing roar that followed their realization of being invited to battle. Alexa was one of few to step back and look for a place to defend herself from. All around were terrified and confused sisters, none of them prepared for what was coming in the next three seconds. Alexa managed to shoulder her weapon before the berserkers began their mad charge full of hate and bloodlust.

'Sisters! Stand firm and fight!' Alexa roared over the enormous roar of the berserkers. It would have been in vain had the doors far off on the left wall of the room hadn't been flung open to reveal Sister Oria and her Repentia maidens charging forth into the fray. The berserkers, seeing more enemies, split their number in half and charged both fields, still bellowing obscenities and foul curses for their god. Still, even with the help, Alexa and Elia's forces weren't ready for this, not at all.

Sister Alexa fired her bolter at the incoming tide of angry, red warriors. She caught one beneath the arm and he dropped his bolt pistol, favoring his chainaxe with two hands a second later. Others began to fire in retaliation to the bestial charge, but it wasn't enough to slow them down even a single step. Filled with rage and hatred of her own, Alexa met her immediate foe with a cruel stab from her bolter. She squeezed the trigger and out belched shells that spit the berserker's insides out onto the feet of his fellows. Alexa leapt back and blasted another's hand to shreds. It didn't even seem to register with the mad Chaos Marine's brain that he'd been struck at all! Were these monsters unstoppable?!

'Sisters! Fight for the Emperor!' Alexa heard Sister Elia roar above the battle's loudness. Alexa was once again absorbed into the melee as berserkers charged again, sending sisters into the air like ragdolls to be chopped to pieces by their chainaxes. The woman had never seen such carnage before! It was something that made her blood run cold when her sisters were being slaughtered in such a manner! She dodged a fist aimed at her chest and brought her elbow down. With the help of her power armor, the berserker's wrist was bent and then blown off by another sister's stray shot.

Over the vox network, Alexa received a message from Sister Rebecca, hoping that it was good news.

'Sister Alexa! We have encountered hundreds of berserkers! We're retreating back to the ship! We cannot hold our line! Please, forgive us sister, for we have been routed!' and with that, Alexa knew that victory was impossible here. She roared with anger and rage, patching herself into the vox net for all sisters to hear her voice.

'We are retreating, sisters! Fall back to the _Faith of Flame_ and defend the ship! Retreat! Sister Oria, get your maidens out of h-' Sister Alexa was cut short as something thudded heavily against the back of her head and she was thrown to the ground, skidding to a rough stop against a corpse. Stars flashed before her eyes and she struggled to rise, head aching. She wondered what had hit her, and if she was going to die. Suddenly, something lifter her up from beneath her arms and she began to move. She blinked tearily and saw that two of her sisters had picked her up and were carrying her away from the battle. Others around Alexa were firing their weapons as the companies began their retreat.

'Sister Alexa! We've got you!' one of the women said, her white helmet stained with blood and gore. In her off hand was a pistol that fired constantly behind them. Alexa thanked the Emperor for saving her, and cursed the gods of Chaos for this defeat. She would force these bastards to pay for every life taken here. She hadn't expected this. What was commanding them to stay still and group together? Surely Kharn the Betrayer couldn't have been…among…them…

Sister Alexa's eyes went wide and her entire body pulsed with terror.

"He's on our ship! Kharn the Betrayer is on our ship! Hurry sisters! Hurry!' she roared, returning to what senses she had left. Sister Alexa gripped her bolter tightly and ran as swiftly as her battered body would take her. Over the vox net, she could hear the terrified and worried cries of her sisters. Alexa growled low in her throat, an old habit that she had been told to defeat during her training. The animalistic side of her roared its ugly head and Alexa trembled with fury and rage at the fact that Kharn was on her ship, defiling it. She would have her vengeance for this disgrace!


	5. Chapter 5

Meanwhile, as Sister Alexa had surmised on Kharn's vessel, said World Eaters Warmaster was busily making his bloody wrath known to the Sisters of Battle in their own ship! Kharn swung his axe down and met the chainsword of a Sister Repentia captain, her blade's teeth being slowly chipped away and melted down from the friction. Sparks showered the tanned woman's bare skin, searing her flesh where they landed. Still, she fought on with fury. Her muscled form looked as if it were pressed to its limits, and Kharn deicded that he'd had enough fun with the woman.

He rammed his foot between the warriors' legs and her hip bone snapped in half and her spine compressed. The woman's eyes rolled up in her head and her arms went slack. Kharn forced his blade through the white-haired woman's head and split her in half from skull to sternum. Laughing maniacally, Kharn slammed his foot against her chest. The woman's corpse hit the wall with a sickening _thud_ and slumped to the floor in a bloody heap. Kharn turned to see how Khoria was fairing, or if she was even alive at all.

He was surprised to find that she wore a grin on her face, which was stained with splotches of blood and gore. In each of her hands was a chain _hatchet_ and both of her mechanical arms had impaled upon them a warrior of the Imperium. Kharn watched with relative surprise as she began to turn the mechanical hands within her foes, claws tearing guts and insides as the two woman screamed for mercy or a quick death. Khoria was completely silent, her grin spreading wider across her face as the cries became louder and more distressed. After the cries had been drowned in blood and ceased to be anything more than soft gurgles, Khoria lopped off their heads with her chain weapons, dropping the corpses to the floor.

She turned to Kharn and nodded silently. The berserker hadn't been expecting to see her so enthusiastic in her first real battle for Khorne. Indeed, he had been right when he chose to keep her alive rather than kill her. Khorne indeed had a purpose for her!

Kharn thundered down the hallway, his berserkers and Khoria close behind. How he had enjoyed this battle! How he had spilled blood of all those who opposed him! He laughed again with spiteful mirth and made a quick left, ducking into a side hallway where a servitor was repairing a system of sorts. Kharn blasted the slave into oblivion with his pistol, and what looked to be a dozen Sisters of Battle raced out of the adjacent hallway, screaming their litanies and nonsense about the false-Emperor. Kharn roared back one of the three litanies of Khorne and smashed into the lead sister, a Repentia maiden. The woman's chainsword fell from her grasp and Kharn let go of his pistol in favor of the close combat weapon.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his new weapon and he swung it with practiced ease. It sawed one of his foes in half, gouging blood and gore from the severed torso of her body. Kharn bellowed in rage and swung his weapons in a whirlwind of death and destruction. A hand, an arm, heads, it didn't matter as the severed limbs blurred by. He could care less where the blood was drawn, just that it was done so correctly! Kharn howled with excitement and fury, stopping his attack to inspect the damage.

Around him lay eight maimed and destroyed sisters, their bodies horribly mangled. Some were missing both hands and with a cloven head. Some were trying to hold in the ropy intestines that spilled from their bellies. Others were simply dead, missing limbs and with great gashes all over their bodies. Kharn on the other hand, wasn't without his own wounds. Three bolter shells had managed to hurt him, two in the neck and one under the knee. They didn't matter, and he was glad to see his own blood once more. It had been a long while since he'd been shot outright, and eh was hoping to get another battle scar today!

And with no more foes to try his skills against, he turned back around and headed for a huge arched doorway that he supposed was the bridge. It had been so long since he had been able to kill anyone that actually mattered. Killing a ship captain would be a good offering to Khorne! And he still had that debt to repay for the ramming of the _Blooded Hand_. Oh yeas, this captain was going to pay with all the blood she had! Kharn reached the arched doorway, the center of which was fashioned in the manner that most places around here were, the Ecclesiarchial brooch of a red background and white feathers. Kharn snarled at the insignia and slashed at it with Gorechild. He tore a great chunk off the door and it slid open for him.

Pleased with his progress, Kharn made his way onto the bridge and revved the chainsword in his right hand. There was nobody here?! No…there was. He could see her form against the backdrop of space provided by the huge crystalline window ahead of him. There was a woman, standing on the foredeck of the bridge. She had her back turned to him, and she seemed like something of a fool to have done such a thing. Kharn stepped into the huge room and his berserkers were about to go insane with rage at having but a single enemy between eighteen warriors. Kharn had his hand up to silence them and halt their advance.

'Woman, take the Choasen Bloodletters back to the boarding pod and await my return,' he ordered harshly.

'Warmaster Kharn…'

'Do it!' he barked angrily. Without another word, Khoria stomped away, the berserkers letting out rage-filled cries as their final kill was swept away from them by their leader. None of them even thought to question Kharn though, not out of fear, but out of respect. They may be insane, but they knew better than to challenge him openly…if they had the sanity left to think at all that is. Kharn waited for a moment and then kicked the bridge doors shut with his foot. He snarled grimly as the woman began to laugh.

'You should've kept your brutes, Kharn the Betrayer,' she said with mirth in her voice.

'You can reveal your whores, woman. I shall take your skull for Khorne, and their blood shall be the offering with it,' Kharn growled.

'No, I am Canoness Dalaria, Kharn. I am going to take _your_ skull as a trophy and burn it into ashes with holy fire! Now sisters! Slay the traitor!' Dalaria roared. Kharn saw the seraphim warriors he had caught glimpses of earlier, and he immediately drew his arm back for a cast. He leaned back and then threw the chainsword gripping in his hand as hard as he possibly could. So hard did he throw it, that he spun in a circle before coming to a halt once again. The chainsword slammed into the woman's sternum and ripped through her power armor and flesh. Impaled on the blade, the woman's jetpack went wild and she crashed into another seraphim, blowing them both into meaty chunks that rained down upon the floor.

Three seraphims remained, and one angry Canoness. Kharn flipped his plasma pistol back into his hand and squeezed off a blue ball of death at one of the flying sisters. She dodged it narrowly, armor seared just below the elbow. Kharn leapt to one side as bolter fire sprayed the ground beneath his feet. Glancing up at where it had come from, he fired again. This time, he caught the sister's legs and burned them away. The woman lost control of her flying device and smashed into the wall with a loud _bang_. Kharn felt something pierce his foot and saw that one of the other two flying whores had shot him and he was bleeding. He snarled back at her and fired the rest of his clip at the flying foes. They dodged, but it disoriented them to fly in such ways as to successfully live though the seven-ball barrage.

Meanwhile, Dalaria had procured her skull mace and bolt pistol from her belt and was stalking towards the World Eater. Kharn grinned with grim delight as she traced a bead on him with her pistol. With inhuman speed, Kharn raced at her, only dodging her bullet at the last moment before she fired. The berserker let out a howl in rage and anger as he swung his pistol at her. She parried with her mace and sheared the power cable for the weapon in half. The plasma pistol flew across the room and Kharn slapped his newly-freed hand against the haft of Gorechild.

The weapon whined and sparks, smoke, and flame rose from where the Canoness' weapon and the Warmaster's weapon touched. It was Chaos verses Purgatory, traitor verses loyalist, Kharn verses Dalaria. The woman threw down her own pistol and gripper her weapon with both hands. Kharn laughed with rage and hatred towards this woman as they began to circle, the two seraphims above unable to shoot Kharn without risking shooting their very own leader. Kharn snarled at the woman as a nimbus of holy light and power played around her head.

'Come now, loyal dog, fight harder! Your god desires me dead, so fight me!' Kharn bellowed.

'You will be dead soon enough, Chaos scum!' she roared in return, breaking away from the deadlock to allow her comrades the opening to shoot. Kharn smashed his shoulder into the unexpecting woman and knocked her to the floor, rolling to the side as a stream of bullets tore up the floor where he had been. In his roll, he snatched up the Canoness' pistol and traced a bead on the seraphims. He slew both of them with "holy" bullets previously meant to turn him into a carcass. He turned to fire upon Dalaria, but the pistol was knocked from his hand and smashed to pieces by a spiked skull mace. The Canoness roared with fury as her second strike came from below.

Kharn lowered Gorechild to his hip and met the woman's enraged and unskilled blow with relative ease. Mice-dragon teeth bit against Imperial blessed steel and sparks flew again. The woman grin, reached out her hand towards Kharn's face.

'For Khorne!' Kharn roared, preparing to snap her finger backwards with the thrust of his forehead. Dalaria's hand lit up with a flash of light.

'For the Emperor!' she shouted. Instantly, Kharn felt a surge of raw energy flow through him. It was maybe the most agonizing thing he had ever felt, including dying once of Terra. Every nerve in his body pulsed with pain and anguish. His eyes watered with tears he had to force back. His legs quivered and threatened to come out from under him. His muscles pulsed with agony and spasms pulsed wildly throughout his form. He had never felt so hurt in his life! His blurry glare fell upon the Canoness, her arms raised and weapon held high to deal the finishing blow. Kharn roared in defiance.

'I do not die so easily!'

And with his roar, he swung up with all the force left in his body, scything through power armor, bone, flesh, and divine shielding. His vision cleared and the woman before him shrieked with agony, stumbling backwards as her skull mace thudded against the floor. Kharn grinned manically, his body aching from the lighting that had just passed through his entire form. Smoke still rose from his armor and his hair stood on end. He looked down favorably upon Canoness Dalaria's one-armed form and grinned with delight when she tried to back away, calling for the Emperor's help. Kharn raised his axe and sheared off her right arm as well, watching it fall to the floor harmlessly. It twitched and a torrent of blood came out of the woman's gaping shoulder. Kharn kicked her to the ground and snarled.

'Emperor curse you and your ilk! You will all die, one way or another! Your ship will be destroyed! Your and your foul traitor-brethren will be killed with holy fire and flames!' she screeched. Kharn smirked, putting his armored hand against her chin and tilting it upwards so that she would be looking him straight in the eyes.

'Your skull, it is mine now! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!' Kharn growled repeatedly as he tugged on her head. Soon enough, with the right amount of pressure applied against her head and a foot on her chest, Kharn ripped her head off. Flesh parted and bones made a hideous and pleasing sucking sound as they were removed from their places in her back and neck. The angry and pained look in her eyes turned blank as her head was removed. Kharn let out a long, lupine howl in victory and smashed Gorechild against the machinery next to him. It sparked and fizzled, red lights blinking as it caught fire. Kharn glared daggers into the woman's dead eyes and walked over to another machine.

He smashed it to pieces and then repeated the process two more times before looking back at the Canoness' corpse. He stepped over to it and pondered briefly the dimensions of Khoria's body and this one. With an evil leer, he tore the breastplate and hips armor from the corpse, clenching them in his left hand. He had to admit, for a Sister of Battle, this woman was built more like a pleasure-slave of a vacation world in the Imperium. Perhaps she would still be alive if she had chosen that profession verses this one.

With no more thoughts urging him to stay, Kharn made his way through the corridors and hallways back to his boarding pod. He took his seat and strapped on the harness around his body. Khoria smiled at him softly, licking away the blood at her lip. Kharn looked at the entrance as it closed up and the pod began to leave, pulled back by a barrel-thick cable that was connected still to the _Blooded Hand's_ combustion cannon. Kharn watched from the porthole as they left the ship and its hull shrank against the horizon. He settled back, trembling at his encounter with the Sister of Battle. He would have to fight them against some day! They had blood to spill aplenty, and zeal enough to give him a fight worth remembering! Khrone was most definitely pleased this day! He looked at the head clutched in his hend. Pleased, very pleased...

* * *

And as Kharn was leaving, Sister Alexa and her retreating assault party were retreating to the ship's prow. After the sisters were in their vessel, the prow retracted into the main hull, closing up to prevent the berserkers form entering as the ship disengaged. Alexa limped quickly down the corridors, a bolt pistol now in each hand. Beside her, Sisters Elia, Oria, and Rebecca helped her along. She was furious! Alexa and the two hundred sisters that had made it back moved through the ship…until they came to the doorway of the bridge. Alexa stared in shock at the insignia of the Ecclesiarchy, which had been slashed down the middle. Down the hall to the left, bloody corpses lay, dismembered and bleeding still. Alexa rushed to the doorway and it slid open automatically.

'Canoness Dalaria! Sisters! Where is…' Alexa could not finish. Her throat closed up and tears came to her eyes. Beside her, Oria dropped to her knees and slammed her blade against the floor in anger and sorrow. The others simply stared with morbid terror. Alexa limped slowly over to the lifeless form that had once been Canoness Dalaria. Tears streamed down Sister Alexa's cheeks as she gazed in sheer horror.

Both of Dalaria's arms had been cut off, lying on the ground nearby. A pool of blood surrounded Dalaria's headless body, streaming out of the stump of her neck and her dismembered shoulders. Beside Dalaria's desecrated body, lay the spiked skull mace, _Fiery Heart_. It still had a glow about it that had always been present. Alexa wasn't angered as much by all this as she was by the fact that Dalaria's breastplate and hip armor had been torn away. Her eyes went wide as she realized what had occurred. The traitor had defiled Dalaria's body! He had done unspeakable horrors to a dead woman! Alexa's fist clenched tightly, her knuckles white beneath holy power armor.

She reached down and picked up _Fiery Heart_. The weapon felt light, even more so than the pistol that had unconsciously dropped from her hands moments ago. Alexa's weeping came to a stop and were replaced by a look of rage and pain and pure fury. She took a deep breath, not even trying to clam herself with litanies of calming and protection. She was far too outraged to even think anything else than death and destruction right now. Still patched into the vox network, she spoke with rage in her voice.

'Canoness Dalaria's body has been defiled, sisters. We must avenge this act of heresy without mercy. We shall follow and slay this traitor, Kharn of the World Eaters, and take his skull and burn it to ashes! We shall purify his body through torture and his confession to every crime he has ever committed! He shall burn with his brethren! We shall see that he is burned into ashes, and then razed into oblivion! I will kill this traitor myself if need be! Sisters, I promise you that as long as I draw breath, Kharn will not have a single day of rest! We shall avenge this act of heresy! Kharn! Will! Pay!' she roared at the top of her lungs.

There was cheering unlike any Alexa had heard before she saw that the _Banisher of Darkness_ had been crippled and was limping through space with gaping holes in its side. Alexa growled like an animal and glared balefully at the ship leaving the battlefield through a Warp portal. The Navigatorum was already tracing his Warp markers. They would follow this bastard beyond the galaxy if need be. He would not escape Sister Alexa's wrath. Vowing aloud to slay Kharn herself after making him repent for every crime he had committed, Sister Alexa turned to leave the bridge and return to her personal sanctum to purify herself. She had a long road ahead of her, and it was not going to be an easy one. She could not take her holy vengeance with such wrath blinding her right now, and so she silently slipped away to her quarters.


	6. Chapter 6

It was nearly a month later that Kharn had managed to find a suitable planet to resupply at. On all of his meat-wagon runs, he want alone to hack down hapless life forms on a planet's surface and then get the crew to pick up their much-needed cargo. However, this time he was in need of swift action due to those damned whores chasing him about the galaxy. He had jumped through the Warp twice already to avoid them! And if it were not for the daemons slipping them out of the Warp early, at Kharn's whims of course, then the berserker champion would still be hounded here. For now however, he was content to have a moment's reprieve from being hunted.

As it was, Kharn had sent down a task force of eight berserkers to scour a small portion of this planet for more meat to consume on their journey through the Warp. Right now, the _Blooded Hand_ was in dire straights with very little to eat and very many furious moth s to feed. Kharn couldn't think of any other way to provide the much-required raw meat than to send down a squad to do the work. His ship was orbiting just above the huge, greenish clouds. This planet was mostly a vast series of rolling hills and rushing rivers. A few places on its surface were dotted with thick forests and a mountain rage circled almost the entire green and blue orb from end to end. Only a three-mile corridor of rocky waste and snow lay in its way.

And at the moment, Kharn was at this corridor, having a bit of sport with a creature that he had never seen the likes of before. It was a fairly large creature, almost a head against as tall as Kharn was when standing at full height. It had four gangly arms used to propel itself up rock faces and grip their rough surfaces. Its lower body was akin to a scorpion tail, with a triple-barbed tail twice as long as Gorechild. Kharn enjoyed the glares coming from its angry orange eyes, the growls from it fanged mouth. It snarled, blowing cold air from its short snout. Kharn stalked after the creature, Khoria close by his side in her now-red armor. It wasn't enough to cover anything more than the private areas of her body, but it was batter than nothing.

She tracked the beast with her mechanical eye, her gaze never leaving its trail. Her skinn was crawling with a deep chill that Kharn could almost see in her teal eye. She looked colder than corpses Kharn had slain on a few ice worlds. He almost felt sorry for her, but anger at her weakness spurned him to try and kill with beast quickly and skin it for something to wrap her up in. She needed to learn that blood was the ultimate offering. And coating yourself in the skin of another with their blood dripping from your body was something to be revered as profound understanding of Khorne's ways. Kharn hurried on, his heavy ceramite boots thudding against the rocks beneath him. He fought down the urge to draw his new bolt pistol and blow the thing's skull across the rocks and snow.

He scaled the surface of a massive boulder as quickly as possible and pulled himself to its top. Before him now stood the large creature, its orange eyes glowering down at the berserker. He snarled with fury and leapt forward. The creature swung one taloned claw at his face, the sunlight glinting off the sharp entities. Kharn raised Gorechild and parried the blow with ease. The mice-dragon teeth of his ancient weapon tore the thing's hand from its arm, and a most peculiar thing happened. As the hand fell to the ground, the stump of the creature's arm began to bubble. As quickly as Kharn had cut off the limb, there was now a sharp spike protruding as a replacement limb. Kharn grinned insanely. This would be _very_ enjoyable.

Spinning full circle, Kharn clove a deep wound into the creature's shoulder and sheared its arm and most of its upper right shoulder into the snow. Another large spike protruded as a replacement and the creature's pronged tail swung from beneath its torso. Kharn was taken aback as the limb caught him between the legs and lifted him off the ground. This thing was indeed strong…and very dangerous. Kharn swung Gorechild down and it bit home in the creature's chest, ripping apart what seemed to be ribs and other extra bones.

The creature gave a defiant roar and slashed at Kharn with all three remaining limbs. The berserker felt something pierce his armor just above his hip and looked down to see the spiky replacement limb was lodged in his side. Kharn shouted curses as pain threatened to overwhelm his appallingly-heightened senses. But with pure rage, he released his weapon from the thing's flesh and then swung back down again, tearing more meat and guts from its body and into the snow in steaming piles. He swung down again and again, hacking away at the thing's body as a woodsman would a tree. Chunks of meat and flesh were thrown into the snow and the ground was stained red with steaming blood. Kharn felt the creature's body begin to go slack.

'Blood for the Blood God!' Kharn yelled, hacking a clean strike deep into the thing's core. Its eyes glared at him for a moment more before withdrawing into a cold, vacant stare. Its body went slack and began to slump to the snow. Kharn dropped to the ground, kicking his foe in the snout as a final, angry attack. It was a deadly finish, seeing as bone crunched on impact with his foot. The creature's snout was forced into itsskull and brains were mashed into a goopy mess that spilled out into the snow. Kharn slammed his axe into its chest and clove the creature in twain, kicking aside one half and stomping upon the other. New flesh tried to assimilate itself, but stopped far short of its objective as life left the creature for good.

Khar growled as he realized that there would be no flaying of this beast, and that Khoria might as well be freezing to death if she couldn't find anything on her own. Kharn stepped off the boulder and when his feet toughed the ground, his knees gave out and he fell into the snow. The ground rose to meet his face and his helmet slammed against the ground. He furrowed his brow. This was very angering! Kharn pushed himself to his knees and shook his head violently, snarling as he struggled to his feet. What was wrong with him? His body had never done this before! Even on Terra, he had died standing! He looked down at the hole in his armor, finding that green ooze slithered out of it instead of blood. He growled.

He had been poisoned! And this wasn't an ordinary poison either. It was much more potent than just about anythgin the Imperium had thrown at him. They had used toxic bombardment on his forces and still lost. This was some vile concoction to be reckoned with if his body couldn't produce any sort of anti-venom for it in this amount of time. His vision became slightly blurry and he yelled with frustrated rage. He slammed a fist against the ground and felt a hand upon his neck. The ground suddenly collapsed beneath his feet and he tumbled through thin air for a few seconds before hitting the ground yet again. Kharn howled with frustration and threw himself to his feet. He looked around wearily, vision blurring at random.

All around him was darkness, illuminated by green patched of light that glowed oddly. Next to him lay the confused form of Khoria, and she shook her head in confusion. Reaching up to Kharn's wound, she looked concerned. Kharn snapped at her and raised Gorechild to her neck. He could so easily lop her head off and kill her. But somehow, since the day he had found and recruited her…he did not want to kill her_ as much_. The urge still burned his blood and made his body cry out in rage, but the feeling was diminished slightly. He shrugged off the pain of his wound and trudged forward, uncaring of where he was going. He simply needed to walk around for a bit until his body had grown used to the venom flowing through his blood.

* * *

Khoria looked up at her master with dismay. He didn't look good at all in this state. His body movements were jerky at best, as if he were forcing himself to move through sheer power of will. He was in pain, and she knew it. But he wouldn't accept help form her, nor anyone else. Khoria had no plans to give him help because of her allegiance o Khorne. If one was unable to take care of themselves, then they were not favored by Khorne and deserved to die of their own accord. But Kharn was a champion, one of Khorne's most favored and worthy conquerors on this plain of existence. He wouldn't die here, Khoria was sure of that.

Still, it wasn't something that she wanted to see, her master in pain. He leaned against the wall of this cave-like structure, panting as if he had just been subject to heavy and extended combat. But in his pants, there was no chuckle of satisfaction, no sort of superior hints. He sounded so weak and defeated and angry! Khoria's brow knitted tightly and she fought down the urge to try and heal his wound with the available knowledge and supplies at hand. She knew that he would heal, but it didn't make her feeling of helplessness diminish at all.

She sighed uneasily and followed Kharn down the uneven and broken path down into the bowels of the earth. To their left was a wall that stretched up about twenty strides and then converged with a ceiling covered in hanging stalactites and strange chittering creatures with glowing blue eyes. Khoria leveled her pistol at one of them and it scurried away quickly. She smirked. Cowardly creatures at best, they wouldn't pose any hindrance to Kharn's movements. Khoria cracked her neck and looked about the massive cave complex. Nearly two thousand strides across, there was another pathway that led down through the huge natural antechamber and into another cave.

At the base of this huge room, there was a lake with large ice flows sitting still within it. Khoria guessed that they had been formed sometime during the night, and then begun to melt during the daylight hours. Khoria wasn't focused on the ice itself, but what slinked across the surface of each artificial landmass. Black creatures scurried away from the light of her electronic eye, its green lens flashing bright flashes every now and then and allowing the cybernetic portions of her brain to take photographic memory data on this place. Already, she could walk the current path she and Kharn walked with eyes closed and under fire. Unfortunately, the Warmaster was far from able to do the same.

Kharn stumbled dangerously close to the edge of the path and only caught himself after his body swayed haphazardly back to the wall. He leaned heavily upon it, his entire body trembling with fatigue. Khoria was genuinely worried for his safety now. If he made a mistake, then he could drown, or freeze in the water. Khoria could only guess at the water's depth, and things did not look good for the Warmaster if he fell. Khoria would be helpless against the freezing waters below. And not for the first time, she shivered in a vain effort to warm her cold body.

The power armor Kharn had stolen for her warmed her a bit, but she had yet to tamper with its systems, or even integrate some of the energy output from the electoo on her left breast into the ancient armor. She wasn't at all worried about freezing, because a chemical addend in her blood would prevent it from coagulating due to cold temperatures. Her body was unable to freeze unless in the most dire of situations. She followed Kharn for a few more steps and then saw him stop and pressed his fingers to the side of his helm.

'Gather whatever you've hunted and return to the ship. Avaron, secure the landing zone and wait for me. I have…been delayed,' Kharn spoke calmly. There was quick chatter over the vox net, over several channels, and then there was silence as Avaron complied with the berserker's wishes. Khoria stepped beside Kharn and he growled softly, almost unable to summon the strength to shove her away or give her a crude remark like he usually did. It was perfectly fine both way though. He had allowed her to enjoy the taste of battle and blood, and she was his warrior. He was the Warmaster, she was under his command. That is how it would remain, and Khoria was satisfied with it.

'Warmaster, maybe we should return to the location where we entered this cave and get out that way. We may only get lost the further we go…' the young woman tried to persuade. Kharn snarled back at her, dragging Gorechild against the rock floor as he stumbled, still leaning fully to the wall for support to keep himself upright. He was not about to be stopped, and she knew that.

'We keep going. There is something living in this cave, and I will have its blood,' Kharn rasped wearily.

'There are many creatures in this cave, Warmaster. I have found none worthy of your blade,' she commented, knowing her efforts were in vain.

'No, woman. There are things residing here, ancient…_familiar_ things. I will have their blood, and you least of all can stop me,' he grunted, continuing forward with green puss and slime oozing from his wound. Khoria was relieved that he still had his wits about him. A least he wouldn't be caught without a fight in his body, that was for sure. Khoria looked around the cave once again, realizing that there was a large bridge that looked as if it had been carved from the rock by the hand of men. Kharn seemed to have noticed some time ago, because his gaze hadn't left the tunnel it led to for some time now. Khoria wondered what could be there.

And she also wondered what sort of things could be residing upon this most remote of planets. What could be here that Kharn had seen or fought before? Had the Imperium's hand grown this far and bold as to strike out into the Centarus Arm of the galaxy? Khoria suppressed the trembling that had crept up upon her form and steadied her nerves. She understood why Kharn was always so hostile and spiteful and fully of fury. Fury and rage outweighed any thoughts of fear, and if one trembled, it was with rage that they had even been challenged. She had a very slight understanding of Kharn's mind, but she had an enormous length to go before understanding the insane berserker in full. She looked worriedly at Kharn. He wasn't looking any better than he had been earlier, and in fact, his breathing seemed more ragged and labored. Things didn't look good for him…


	7. Chapter 7

Within the berserker's mind, thoughts swirled around like dragonflies over a stagnant pond in a summer season. His head throbbed like something from the Warp was pressing a taloned hand against his head in quick and intermittent ways. He growled low in his throat, suppressing the rage building up within him. Why did this pain feel good?! He was infuriated by this anomaly! Pain was supposed to hurt! It was supposed to feed his rage and then fuel his fury to make the bloodshed faster and bloodier! This was not how wounds were supposed to feel!

Kharn was most displeased with how this was turning out. He had been hunting for a creature's fur and was now wandering around cave, in virtuall darkness and with his senses leaving him. He stuck a finger into the wound in his belly, removing it to find that the flow of green pus and goo had lessened considerably. With a snarl, he whipped his head around as something reached his withered senses far too late for him to properly prepare himself. If this was what he thought it was, then he was in for an extremely challenging fight.

Fortunately, he had Khoria with him at the moment. If anything, she could be a very nice distraction until he could saw someone's skull into mush and pulverize their body soon thereafter. With a snarl, he brought himself off the wall and stood on his own two feet, the dizzying feeling returning ten fold and his legs trembling with the strain. The visage before him swirled like an ocean during a hurricane, twisting and turning like nothing he'd ever seen before. He dropped to his knees and growled with frustration. He wasn't getting in a good fight any time soon. Kharn glanced up at Khoria's swirling outline and growled something to her, but it sounded as if he were trying to tear someone's arm off and speak at the same time.

Khoria turned to him, brushing a lock of stray black hair from her teal eye. He couldn't see the look on her face, but he could already tell that she was worried. She had been so for the past few minutes while they had been slunking around this damned cave at a snail's pace. Suddenly, she sensed the thing that had been steadily approaching them while Kharn had tried to urge himself forward. The berserker's vision blurred so badly that he couldn't tell anything more than a few blobs. Tears welled up in his eyes and he slumped against the wall in a sitting position, panting heavily. He could feel sweat beading at his brow, something that was very rare for him.

'Show yourself, so that I might better kill you,' Khoria threatened the intruder. Soon, the unknown presence made itself visible to the berserker and his fledgling convert to Khorne. Kharn's vision suddenly cleared and he grunted, head still dizzily spinning. He saw a woman, in a tight indigo brazier and long, slender violet boots. Her skin was a dark, ashen gray color and her eyes like orange flames. Running from her fingertips to her neck and collar bones were bright yellow-orange runes that curved up her arm in a tangle of curved and geometric shapes and patterns. Her flowing scarlet hair floated around her head as if she were submerged in water. A wicked smile was worn upon her black lips.

'I see your comrade is in trouble,' the woman commented, floating over towards Kharn with her smile widening. Kharn struggled to raise his chainaxe to block whatever sorcery she might be trying to use on him. Khoria put herself between the champion and the sorceress, growling and revving her chainaxe menacingly. Her pistols were pointed directly at the woman's head.

'Another step, and I'll take your skull as a trophy,' Khoria snarled. The floating woman waved her hands in an intricate pattern in front of her face, afterimages of her fingertips leaving bright streaks in the dark gloom. Kharn wanted to warn Khoria of the oncoming magic being used, but the woman didn't move, her sights trained on the sorceress' head. Kharn could feel a strange feeling overwhelming his senses and rage boiled within him like nothing he had ever experienced before. He trembled visibly, armor clinking as he struggled to fight this odd magic. He couldn't believe what was happening to him?! He tried to roar, but his jaw felt like it had been cemented shut.

'I am here to help your comrade, and heal his grievous wounds. I can take you two to a sanctuary where his wounds may be healed and his life rekindled in full. Would you like me to take him there?' she asked slyly, poison in her tone as her invisible magic worked its way into Kharn's veins, breaking his ability to reason with this menace. He tried to snarl, but no sound emerged from his throat other than a wheeze. Khoria looked back at him worriedly, and hen stood down, keeping her pistols aimed at the woman's skull.

'If you do anything to him…you'll have less brain matter left than an ork speared through the eye socket,' she threatened. The floating woman turned to Kharn with a leer that Khoria didn't see. Kharn heard a voice in his head that made his entire form boil with rage and fury that couldn't be unleashed while he was under this woman's magic influence. He glared daggers at both women before him. One was a damned sorcerer! The other was clueless!

Kharn was willed to walk of his own accord, but his senses were dulled so much that he could barely maintain his grip on reality. Colors of every kind flashed all around him, some of them swirling as if caught in great whirlwinds on a desert world. Others drifted or wafted slowly by, passing over him to leave a cool kiss of hated magic upon his armor and flesh beneath. He looked at the woman floating just beyond the reach of his hand and sighed with discontent. He couldn't remember why he was so angry! What fury did build inside his body at the thought!

He growled angrily and squeezed the hilt of his ancient Gorechild, the weapon moaning with anguish at the fury flowing between them. Kharn couldn't remember the time his lust for blood hadn't been slaked at its every beck and call! He snarled and trembled with hatred. Turning his head to the wary Khoria, he felt some of his more human…primal, urges begin to surface. And for the first time in his life, he couldn't remember to suppress them within the masquerade of rage. He turned his eyes away from the woman and back to the path ahead. He hadn't noticed it before, but this room was well lit by the swirling magical streams flowing all around. The water below shimmered with some sort of reflective properties and he could see tiny life forms writhing beneath its surface, long and serpentine.

His heavy boots thudded with little haste across the natural bridge of stone that connected this side of the huge, cavernous antechamber to the far one. The bridge was barely wide enough for two marines of Kharn's width to cross and its breadth looked to be nearly a hundred strides. Kharn looked back at Khoria for a moment before watching the floating woman dip down in the air beside the bridge, her hand caressing the well-worn stone and gentle tendrils of purplish and blue magic running along the places where her hand touched. Her head was about hip level with Kharn, and she had one of the nastiest looks on her face that Kharn had ever seen before in his entire millennia-spanning life.

'Woman…what is your name?' he growled. She tilted her head to the side and sun around, still floating above the glimmering water below.

'I am Alicia. And you are about to enter _my_ wonderland,' she said, a leer in her eyes. Kharn's right arm tensed and cables of muscle and sinew flexed to break the previously unnoticed spell wrapped around him like a thick shroud. His arm flexed as much as it possibly could and Alicia's brow furrowed. She floated up so that her face was only a hand's length away from the angry berserker's face.

'What?' Kharn barked.

'You are a very strong willed one indeed. Yours will be a very enjoyable breaking,' Alicia explained as she floated ahead, humming lightly. She still wore that snide, nasty look on her face. Kharn's blood boiled at the thought of being broken in like some dog. A glance at Khoria told him that she had no idea what was going on. If she had even registered that the woman had spoken, she gave absolutely no sign of it. All she had was a vacant stare on her face, servo-arms dangling limply at her sides. She looked like something had her under a powerful mind-controlling spell.

* * *

After wandering through the maze network of tunnels and passageways for nearly half a hour, Kharn was feeling worse than he had at Terra. The wound he had obtained earlier no longer oozed green slime and ichor. It now was covered with a purplish and pink substance, crusty and gooey in different places. Kharn snarled, feeling something inside of him begin to resurface after a great many years. His right hand gripped Gorechild as tightly as it possibly could. Kharn could feel the adamantium trembling in his grip.

The berserker glared forward at the woman smirking back at him, her body floating gracefully above the set tiles of the floor. Kharn had noticed a change in their surroundings as of late. They were no longer in any natural cave of any kind. The walls were all lined with a strange pink stone that permeated a sweet, sickly smell into everything that moved nearby. The walls were angled slightly, so that the ceiling was wider than the floor. It gave this place a sort of look to make it seem bigger, grander than it actually was. Still, the pink and purple ripples in the ceiling didn't lessen Kharn's unease about this place. What manner of hall was this?

He had to be wary of this place, for there were most definitely things running about the place that did not think him as friend or ally. Gorechild shrieked in agony, and for the oddest reason, Kharn couldn't think why. He simply kept his guard up, following the floating Alicia down the widening hallway. The hallways suddenly opened up into a grand, vast room lined with lighter pink stone and a large crystalline protrusion, catching and spreading out light all over the large room. Sickly figures loomed above from orifices cut into the walls high above, sitting on platforms made of bluish metal, riveted and molded to the wall with some manner of powerful magic. Faces seemed to appear, shift, and then sink back into the ceiling thirty strides up.

Kharn didn't like this place at all, not even at his first glance. That had shown him something very strange about this place. All around were altars lined in a circle whose circumference encompassed most of the room. Most of them had a man and a woman atop them, locked in a lover's embrace. Many of them shouted and mewled with lust and other emotions of sick satisfaction and depravity, Kharn noted. A few of them looked like they were being torn to pieces with sharp claws and hook dug into their skin. The looks on their faces belied any pain at all, and in fact, showed that they were possibly getting a thrill out of such pain. Kharn found it very strange indeed.

Further on, there was a large doorway lined with gold and purple, a large stone symbol fixated just above its arched pinnacle. The symbol was a circle lined by a crescent moon. From the circle's side protruded a large, rectangular shape tipped with another crescent. In this smaller crescent rested a glowing orb of swirling energies, feeding out into the room like a wave of exuberant fog, lashing out in all directions as if it were a chained beast. Kharn cringed slightly as a tendril of the stuff found its way to his wound and finished the previously growing patchwork of pink and purple stuff that had healed him. Kharn walked silently with Khoria beside him, a rebreather set over her face. Was this toxic gas? It mattered not. Kharn's enhanced body had seen much more dangerous poisons, this was nothing.

The Khornate berserker looked back to the arched doorway and saw that there were four armored Chaos marines standing astride the large metallic structure. They were garbed in the traditional armor that all Chaos Marines wore, save the fact that it was place with pink paudrons and helms. Each carried a weapon with a long, cylindrical barrel reminiscent to that of a flamethrower. They all wore the same insignia on their shoulders, a leering daemon face with a tongue emblazoned with the same symbol as the one above the door. Kharn could see that their helms, around where their ears were located, had triangular devices set upon them. Each marine shuddered with every step of Kharn's heavy boots.

'Come now, Kharn. Let us hurry to our destination great warrior,' Alicia said, finally letting her feet touch the ground. She gracefully lowered her feet to the floor, stepping inaudibly with a nimbus of magic dust and light shimmering around her head. Her hair continued to flow around her like a living thing, slowly wafting around her head like a big, fiery halo. With every step of her feet, the Chaos Marines shuddered and trembled with some sort of excitement. Kharn grumbled.

'Warmaster…I don't like this place," Khoria said before he could even utter a sound. Kharn tried to agree with her, but Alicia seemed to have a more powerful spell over him than before, because nothing reminiscent of sound would leave his mouth. Khoria looked at the berserker worriedly. His face was twisted into a visage of rage and fury, but beneath his helmet, she couldn't see. Kharn wanted to tear her head off and drink her blood for this foolishness of truly epic proportions! Could she not see that this was a…a…

Kharn's eyes went wide with horror. What was happening to his mind? How could he have forgotten what this was? It had been of such importance not a few moments ago. He had been planning to tell Khoria to strike with him, or at least strike Alicia and release this spell placed upon him and hope that Khoria would follow his lead. His mind filled with images of destruction and death all about him…and his surrounding were in stark contrast to what he had desired nearly his entire life.

The doors ahead began to open up, as if by a simple whim of hers. She turned her head slightly, just to keep a watchful eye on Kharn and his companion. A malicious grin spread across her face and the doors continued to part, a shrill noise echoing from the other side, which was illuminated by a deep purple glow surrounded by an otherwise back aura from further in. Kharn felt a very unpleasant chill crawl up his spine like a multitude of tiny spiders. Kharn could do nothing but wait for the door to open wide enough for him to get through with Alicia, who now had a look of malign intent to match her grin. Kharn cursed the gods a thousand times again for his companion's stupidity. What he would do to her when they were done with this place…

And then his thoughts came to an abrupt stop. His thoughts had not gone directly to slaughter and killing the woman this time. No…indeed they had been somewhere far away. Images of their naked forms pressed against one another had flickered through his mind, and he began to visibly tremble with pure infuriation. What was this woman doing to him?! What was this place doing to him?!

'And now, please be kind to the benefactor of your journey here, Champion Aurinis the Decadent One,' the evil woman announced. The arched doors came to a rest, only half way open and still with enough space to fit three of Kharn abreast through it. The Khornate berserker unwillingly stepped forward and a cool, unpleasant air of strange scents washed over his armored body. Where his bare flesh showed, it tingled felt increasingly warm. Just as Kharn thought it might be over, his eyes fell upon the form of Khoria. Her entire body wracked with an unknown emotion, shuddering violently. The servo-limbs on her back seemed to have frozen in place, weapons remaining unmoved in their cold grips. The fellow berserker looked as if she was going to crumple to the floor and be consumed in a fit of seizures.

'I see your friend has already accepter her fate. Come now, berserker, and do the same. Alicia can see to it that you are most grateful,' a smooth, silky voice purred from behind the dim purple glow. Kharn grimaced. This man, whoever he was, was going to have to die. Khoria was not going to be taken by some scum such as this. Kharn would make sure that Khorne's chosen follower would remain in Khorne's hands, no matter what he'd have to do to ensure it.


	8. Chapter 8

The disembodied voice bellowed an annoying chorus of laughter, filled with mirth. It made Kharn's blood boil that he was unable to do anything to silence this fool. Gorechild wailed with tormented anguish as it shuddered. Kharn looked again at Khoria, finding that she had slumped to her knees and now had her arms around her chest, trembling as if someone had cut off her foot. Tresses of blood-matted hair veiled her face, and her breathing was ragged and sharp. Her servo-limbs were all against the floor, lying on the floor. The woman looked defeated, utterly and completely. More noxious fog wafted over the room's entrance, and Kharn's skin felt the prickle of its magic. He felt warm, and he shook the feeling off.

He heard a deep chuckle emerge from the darkness and Kharn glared over to what was coming forth to greet him. He was almost taken by surprise when he found who it was that had spoken to him so arrogantly. It was a champion of one of the other Chaos Gods. He was nearly Kharn's height, layered in ornate black armor with a light blue trim. Curved paudrons rested upon his shoulders and a breastplate with a number of runes etched upon its black surface. From beneath his paudrons jutted the sleeves of a chainmail hauberk, pink in color. In his left hand was clutched the handle of a crescent shield made of graying metal. The inner curve was lined with a pink strip of fabric, and the outer with purple.

Sitting on his head was a Corinthian-style helm of black steel with a light blue trim. The two cheek plates connected in the middle, leaving open space only just enough for two pink, glowing eyes to stare out from beneath the piece of armor. From the top of the helm rose a great crest of violet, making the man seem more imposing due to the added height. Around his waist was a leather belt with a blue buckle in the shape of a daemon's leering face. On the belt was a bottle of green-tinged liquid and a small satchel of what looked to be powder. In the man's right hand, there was a blade.

This blade was imposing, even if it wasn't held at the ready. It was as tall as the man who wielded it, including the great violet crest on jutting from the top of his helm. Its slightly curved hilt was five hands long at least, and the pommel was a cruel, hooked barb with dried blood on it. The blade itself radiated power that seeped from every inch of its form. It looked as if it had been dipped into a vat of pink liquid and then ripped free. One edge of the blade was curved down to the tip, which was pure pink. The length of the blade faded from pink to black at the hilt, where rested a teal gem the size of Kharn's fist.

The lower half of his body was bare, save for a piece of cloth that looked more like drapery for a window than it did clothing. Kharn couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in the fabric around the champion's loins. However, Kharn ripped his gaze away from the man and glared at Alicia, who was once again floating aimlessly around him, eyeing what she could in an untimely way. There was a look in her eyes that Kharn did not trust at all.

'You have brought me a fine will to break, Alicia. Now you may choose which one you would like to devour in pleasure first before we immortalize them within this chamber,' the champion said in a foreboding tone. Kharn managed to get out a growl before being silenced again by dark, befouled magic of Chaos.

'Oh, you were able to let slip that blooded tongue of yours? I wonder what else it can do?' Alicia said with a deep smirk written into her face. She touched down against the floor again, and the magic fog permeating around the room rippled away as if she were walking across the surface of a lake. Kharn struggled to even stay put, forcing his body against the force that willed him to slid forward. His ceramite boots grated against the floor until he was not two inches from Alicia. She willed for two Chaos Marines from outside the room to come in and the heavy doors closed behind them, sealing the room until further notice. Kharn's head was beginning to clear now as the hold on his body grew stronger to combat the growing need to slaughter within his body and soul.

Kharn's head no longer spun, and his thoughts became clearer now. He could tell now what these people were, and who they worshipped. With what was left of his willpower, Kharn turned his head to Khoria, finding her pinned against the wall by the Slaanesh Champion. In the man's hands were still clutched the tainted blade and crescent shield bestowed upon him by his filth-loving god of pleasure. Kharn clenched his teeth as the two Chaos Marines that had been willed into the room began to move towards him, intent on doing something to him. Kharn snarled and Alicia stepped forward.

'Damnable whore,' Kharn spat to the woman. She merely giggled, eyes roving across the berserker's form.

Kharn felt the Noise Marines beginning to follow her unspoken command as she waved said appendage in front of her face. They began to remove pieces of his armor, being careful to stay as far away from Gorechild as they could. There would be _blood_ to pay once Kharn was out from under her accursed magic spell. Whatever she was planning for him, he would return it to her in his own, demented way. The noise maries began to pant, their ears being able to pick up noises at a thousand times the volume and sensitivity of a normal marine's. To them, ever breath or footstep was like a cascade of pleasure, due to the devices implanted into their helmets and ears, which amplified noise to such a high volume and turned it into a sensation of immense ecstasy. They shuddered as his paudrons fell to the floor and his greaves followed in suit.

With every new inch of Kharn's actual flesh being revealed, it was assaulted by the noxious fog wafting through the air in the room. Kharn's entire body began to feel warmer, and he didn't like the feeling. Kharn's blood boiled again when his gaze returned to Khoria's body pushed against the wall with Aurinis prying at the pieces of power armor that covered her from him. The man looked as if he had been starved and Khoria was a platter or raw meat put before him in a locked box as temptation. It wouldn't be long before the champion thought to use his blade to simply slice the armor off her body and continue with his profane and horrible ritual.

'Barei, please remove his helmet,' Alicia spoke softly into the Noise Marine's ear to the right. The warriors was caught in a wracking seizure and doubled over on the ground, moaning and crying out in pleasure. Whatever the accursed sorceress had done to him, the man found it to be something unable to hold back from. And after a few brief moments, the marine stood back up, a shrill laugh erupting from his helmet. He reached for Kharn's helmet. The other Noise Marine unable to pull anything else off the warrior because all other pieces of armor had been removed, save for the berserker's gloves. Kharn's eyes went wide and he was filled with an emotion that he had come over the past ten thousand years to be his greatest ally: Rage.

Such rage and fury and pure hatred filled his entire body that his breath was escaping him in ragged gasps. The Noise Marine withdrew for a moment, his armored gauntlet hesitating before gripping Kharn's helm. The berserker's right hand, gripping Gorechild as tightly as it possible could, was joined by its twin connected to Kharn's opposite arm. The berserker took a deep breath and filled his lungs with chilled, filtered air from his helmet.

With a mighty roar in defiance, Kharn swung Gorechild in an arm that caught the Noise Marine in the jaw. The mica-dragon teeth of the ancient weapon ripped through ceramite armor and the pink helmet guarding the Chaos Marine's head was torn asunder. The front of his face was bisected messily, brains and bone fragments spilling out the front of the gaping hole that had one been his face. The corpse was subsequently kicked aside by Kharn's heavy, booted foot and crashed into its former fellow, sending both to the floor.

Kharn stood still for a moment, like a true effigy of the god he served. Near-naked and chest covered with blood and brains, Kharn looked like a monster that a farmer on some backwater planet would make up to make his child be good. Kharn turned his head to Alicia, who stood before him, mouth agape and eyes wide. Her entire face was twisted into a look of horror. Kharn turned the rest of his body to face her, muscle and sinew rippling with vigor and hatred. His veins pulsed like angry blue snakes beneath his skin. He was free from her magic, and now he could take his vengeance.

'I am Kharn the Betrayer, Warmaster of the World Eaters. I swear I shall take your skull as a trophy, give all your blood to Khorne, and devour your heart in his name. Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!' Kharn roared at the top of his lungs, the vox amplifier in his helmet initiated for further volume. Kharn took a step to get his momentum forward and then swung with everything he could possibly muster from his body, focusing every last bit of his body's strength into an attack that would destroy this woman.

Gorechild came down from the air, thundering downward with teeth spilling and voice bellowing for more blood. Kharn felt his weapon smash against something, and he wasn't at all pleased when the thing gave Gorechild resistance instead of being torn asunder as planned. He suddenly realized that the Slaaneshi champion, Aurinis, had moved in front of Gorechild's path, his huge blade gripped in hand and pressed against Gorechild's revving teeth. Neither weapon gave way, and neither champion was ready to stop the fight that had just begun. Kharn glared daggers into Aurinis' eyes as rage boiled within his body anew and he felt the prickling, warm sensation of the stuff around him.

Kharn grunted with frustration and pressed down still harder, howling with rage as he saw Alicia beginning to return to her senses after almost being brutally slain. Kharn could not risk a glance at Khoria, and he knew that she was probably still against the wall, slumped and wracked with pleasure from the stuff in this damned chamber. Kharn, unfortunately, found that he had yet a third enemy as the Nosie Marine had hadn't killed stood back up, screeching obscenities at Kharn.

The berserker broke off against Aurinis and jumped aside as the Noise Marine ran at him. The marine, with speed Kharn had rarely seen, diverted his course and lunged at Kharn. The berserker raised Gorechild and the marine caught its haft just under the blade. Kharn lashed out with his foot, denting the knee joint in the marine's armor. The Noise Marine stumbled back and Kharn felled him with a stroke from his chainaxe, cleaving a wound through his torso and down to his midsection. The Noise Marine let out a gurgle in agony and Kharn ripped his weapon free, swatting the corpse aside with his off hand. His death glare fell upon Aurinis, who was now prepared to fight Kharn. Alicia was behind him, muttering profane spells under her breath.

Kharn was in a deep bind here. He was trapped against a wall, with none of his armor to protect him. He was also outnumbered and there could be more enemies to be called in at any moment. And to top it all off, one of the foes he was fighting was a sorceress, which meant that he was outranged and forced on the immediate defensive. Growling ferociously, Kharn brandished his weapon and charged Aurinis. At the very least, this man's blood would flow like a river from his corpse.

'Blood for the Blood God!' roared a voice that Kharn found was not his own. Kharn's eyes saw a smaller version of his own chainaxe fly through the air, teeth still whirring, and smash into Aurinis' helm with a dull _thud_. The champion was offset and stumbled a few steps before regaining his composure and giving her a threatening glare.

'Your god cannot hear you in this place. This is a palace of pleasure. Slaanesh is the ruler here,' the champion spat. Kharn, fueled by the rage of hearing the hated god's name, charged again as the champion turned to face him. Khoria was charging the sorceress, dividing their foes' attention. The odds were even again, and Kharn snarled with hatred as Gorechild bit the Slaaneshi champion's blade. A shower of rainbow-colored sparks flew everywhere and Kharn's fury was redoubled as Aurinis began to laugh at him. Kharn broke off his enraged blow and swung from the floor this time, hoping to catch Aurinis beneath the arm.

A shield met Kharn's blade and the berserker twisted his body sideways to avoid the blade that swung up to bisect him. Unarmored, any blows taken from the blade would be completely fatal. Kharn surged forward, keeping the momentum of his twisting body in his favor. Gorechild's teeth dragged his foe's shield toward the berserker and its teeth scraped across blue-trimmed black armor. The weapon bit home, but was parried in a flash with the shield it had previously regarded as an obstacle.

'Die, filthy cur!' Kharn yelled, punching the champion in the face with his still gloved fist. The corrupted black helm twisted beneath his fist, but did not break. Kharn lowered his chainaxe to parry the sweep of a pink blade that would have cut his left arm off. He backed away as the champion tore his helm off and growled. Kharn was quite surprised to see that this was no traitor-marine like himself, but something of a different race entirely. This was a dark eldar, corrupted follower of Slaanesh and one whose soul was being devoured ever second of his life. The xenos' face was angular, sharp features twisted into a parody of malice. He looked positively horrific, but then again, Kharn wasn't anywhere near intimidated.

Both champions let out a battle cry and charged. Kharn rammed the Slaaneshi champion in the chest with his shoulder, feeling cold armor against his bare flesh. The fog around him no longer phased even one of his senses. He was too taken in by rage to be occupied with anything other than killing this man. He spun so that his back was against his foe, backpedaling to move them both. A pink blade met the haft of his chainaxe and scraped against it. Kharn let out a howl in fury and slammed the Shaaneshi champion against the wall, bringing the butt of his chainaxe into the warrior's shoulder. He felt the familiar crack of bones from beneath the dark eldar's armor as the plate mail bent and snapped.

Kharn's fury and rage were redoubled as he saw Khoria nearby, fending off a superior foe with trembling knees. She looked like she wasn't going to make it much longer without help. Kharn slammed the butt of his weapon into the dark eldar's shoulder again, feeling flesh part before its spiked tip. The dark elder laughed maniacally and Kharn snarled with disgust. He withdrew his weapon and spun around, only to be rammed in the neck with Aurinis' crescent shield. The berserker staggered back, sparks flashing before his eyes. His opponent seemed to have gained speed, and swung in a wide arc with his blade, still gripped from his arm that should have been rendered useless.

'Shaanesh blesses me with the gift of pleasure. Anything you do to me will feed her hunger!' Aurinis spat as his blade connected with Gorechild. Kharn's hand lost grip and his blade was thrown to the floor. The berserker's senses returned to him and his entire body went red with rage. His mind went through an instant change and he howled like a daemon, all of his wits and his entire being now devoted to the one thing his god desired him to do: spill blood.

'Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!' he bellowed, unable to configure his thoughts in his blind fit of rage. He saw the next stroke of the blade was much slower. Kharn ducked beneath it easily, and it didn't even touch the great protruding, flat-headed horns on his helmet. The berserker leapt forward, one hand clutching the Shaaneshi champion's sword hand and the other around his neck. The dark elder looked taken aback, and his eyes filled with horror as Kharn's insane laughter filled his ears.

'Monster! Daemon!' he screeched in horror. 'Alicia, help me! He's possessed!' the xenos roared. Kharn pressed the warrior against the wall of pinkish stone, a baleful look in his eyes. He released his hand from Aurinis' neck, and ripped the blade free from the champion's grip. A brief look of terror and sudden realization passed across his face. The look quickly disappeared when Kharn rammed the long blade through Aurinis' face and deep into the wall. The new corpse sprayed blood all across Kharn's helmet and the front of his body. A few seconds passed and the berserker realized that his foe was dead. An insane grin spread across his hard features and he whirled around, not even caring to pick back up Gorechild, who still revved on the floor, spinning slowly in place in an effort to return to his hands.

Kharn paid no attention to it as he stormed across the room, colored fog retreating before his enraged charge. His eyes were locked on the head of the sorceress, Alicia. All the thoughts and visions running through his head had something to do with tearing the woman's head off and eating her heart in Khorne's name. The berserker let out another war cry as he closed in, roughly twenty strides away. Alicia turned her head and saw the warrior racing toward her, yapping like a flesh hound in a fit of hunger. She saw that her champion had been killed as well, and realizing that she was next, began to retreat. Kharn saw her begin to levitate toward the ceiling and he let out a howl in distraught rage.

She was not going to get away! Kharn planted both feet on the ground and leapt up and reached his gauntleted hands up toward her face so that he could rip it to pieces. His hands fell short and he didn't seem to even be getting to grab her tattooed arms, which were held out to either side of her. Kharn's reach fell still further and he realized that even her knees were out of his reach. He snarled with rage and his hands finally found purchase on her slender foot. Unfortunately, her boot was what he had grabbed, and the garment began to slip off. Kharn reached up with his opposite hand and reached her smooth, magic-grayed thigh. His fingers crunched down on her skin, and it split under the pressure, blood flowing. Kharn released her booted foot and reached up further, grabbing the front of her corset.

The garment ripped and fell from her body, exposing a tattoed chest with nipples pierced by purple and barbed hooks. She had scars running from her navel to her rips, and all manner of Shaaneshi symbol cared into her corrupted hide. Kharn reached up and grabbed her shoulder, ripping at it angrily. He felt bone snap and reach up to her head as she screamed with agony. Kharn's blood-fueled rage was not going to be slaked until he had her heart in his hand and her head on the floor.

Kharn slammed a palm over her screaming mouth and squeezed her jaw between his fingers and his thumb. A terrified noise emerged from her lips and Kharn slapped a hand against the back of her head. He pulled himself up so that his eyes were aligned with hers. He drove a knee into her gut and they both plummeted to the floor. Kharn's position on top of her as they hit the floor broke her spine and hip in several places. Her eyes dilated and Kharn withdrew his hand from her mouth, placing it on the side of her head. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, many of her internal organs punctured by her rips or crushed by Kharn's heavy body. The berserker wasn't satisfied yet. He wanted to hear her plead for mercy. He was soon obliged as the words left her lips in little more than a whisper.

'Let…me live. Don't…kill…'

'Blood for the Blood God!' Kharn roared back at her plea for mercy, pulling on her skull. He could feel the tension of her spine trying to resist the forces that would pull it apart very soon now. He saw skin redden as the blood vessels were stretched and broke beneath it. Her gray skin began to tear, slowly at first, and then in great gashes. He heard her tiny cry in pain as her vertebrae began to disconnect and her nerves ripped apart. Kharn gave her head a final, tremendous tug with his natural muscles and free came the woman's head. There was a sickening sucking noise as the part of her spine that held to the base of her skull came out of its natural cavity.

Blood fountained forth from the stump of her open neck, flowing in torrents out onto the cold stone floor. Kharn held the severed head up and glared into Alicia's blank eyes, his entire being filling with malice and hatred. How he had wished to kill her slowly, to make her suffer instead of experience the pleasure she had devoted her entire being to. But that would play into her god's realm, so he had killed her quickly. The entire ordeal of ripping her head off with his bare hands had taken a mere eight or so seconds.

Kharn tossed her head aside, hearing it thunk against the floor and roll to a stop beside a huge fountain that dominated the center of the room. He hadn't noticed the thing before because it was surrounded by a shroud of purple fog, fog that was slowly beginning to dissipate as if it realized that its owner had a sword pinned through his face against a wall. Kharn looked back to Alicia's immobile, limp…and headless corpse. Kharn glanced at Khoria to see if she was still going to be a hindrance to escaping this place. She looked batter than she had, but not by much. She was still pale and trembling, a vacant and confused.

Kharn ripped his gaze from he body and returned it to the half-naked on beneath him. He grabbed the corpse's broken ribs and tore them out, along with the flesh clinging to them. He drove his hand into Alicia's dormant corpse and probed around for a few moments before pulling his hand around the object of his desire. He ripped the organ free, blood flying with it as he withdrew his bloodied hand from the cavity he had plunged it into. Kharn glared daggers at Alicia's still heart, blood leaking from its orifices. Kharn unlocked his helmet from his head and pulled it off, glaring with all his focus upon the heart. Kharn pulled his helmet off his head and opened his mouth.

He snapped his jaw shut on the blood-pumping organ and savored the taste of blood filling his mouth. He ripped a chunk out of the lean organ and then tossed it aside. It smacked against the wall and flopped to the ground with a squishy noise. Kharn swallowed the chunk of heart and grabbed his helmet from the floor, shoving it back on his head. He stood back up and locked it back before walking over to Khoria, who was trying to catch her breath. Kharn stalked over to her and growled deeply.

'You are useless. The next time you are so unworthy of your god's eyes, I will sacrifice you to Khorne myself. Do not be so weak again.' And with that, Kharn ripped the pink, crystalline thing from the wound in his abdomen and threw it against the wall. His blood trickled forth from the wound and he snarled in discomfort. He would have no Slaanesh-make thing sealing his wound, or in his body. Khorne would protect his favored, of that Kharn was certain as he stomped over to his armor and began refitting it onto his body. There would be hell to pay outside this room for such a transgression. And that was something Kharn would make sure of with Gorechild.


	9. Chapter 9

Kharn waited a while for Khoria to regain her senses completely. But when she was on her feet once again, her eyes were wary and darted about the room as if there were still things lurking within it. Kharn watched silently as she walked over to Alicia's corpse and knelt down to it. She grabbed its hand and pulled something off the index finger, examining it closely with her bionic eye. Kharn didn't know why she would be wanting to even _touch_ something worn by that sorceress whore. A gleeful squeal from her locked his attention on the item clutched in her hand.

'What is it?' questioned the berserker. Khoria turned to him with a selfish look on her face.

'It's a sacred artifact! I found a sacred artifact! I contributed to the Quest for Knowledge!' she shouted with such elation that Kharn's blood boiled once more. He stomped over to where Gorechild lay and snatched the ancient weapon up, growling for Khoria to follow. She quickly pulled the second "artifact" off the corpse's finger and hurried after the World Eater. Kharn reached the closed doorway and snarled with rage as he kicked it with a power armor-enhanced boot. There was a deafening _clang_, but the door didn't budge. Kharn bellowed a furious war cry and smashed the door with his chainaxe, cleaving great chunks from its stone and metallic surface.

Every stroke caused the resonance of high-pitched noise to increase, and soon the doors were beginning to vibrate. Kharn could see their surfaces shifting slightly, as if being warped like metal beneath kill of flame. With a grim howl, Kharn rammed the doors with his shoulder, hoping to use this vibration to his advantage and conflict them to break the stone. His attack succeeded and the left door sprang a crack that ran from the floor to the top of the arched doorway. The door fell silent, its loud humming now fading away as the noise was replaced with a horrible shriek.

The left door slowly separated clearly, splitting in two all the way from top to bottom. The side clutching the wall stood still on its massive hinged. Its smaller twin, however, began to slide forward. Kharn let out a victorious howl as the huge piece of the door began to slide from its place and it was clear that it would fall into the room ahead. Kharn wondered if Khoria was paying any attention, though he doubted it. She seemed far too interested in her tiny artifact to be of any use or pay any attention at this point.

The massive door piece began to tumble to the floor and Kharn leapt up just before it hit the ground. A thunderous roar filled the cavernous antechamber like the round of a Basilisk had just exploded within it. The entire cave complex shook visibly, stones removing themselves from the ceiling to smash against the floor. The massive door piece shattered into a thousand pieces nearly the size of a man, spreading out across the floor. Kharn stepped up upon the rubble and looked around for a moment to assess the situation.

The Noize Marines were all writhing in pleasure in their altars, their coupled daemon wenches screaming in a mix of pain, agony, and pleasure. Kharn roared at them to make their skulls better targets for Gorechild, but none of them seemed to even register that Kharn was there. They all writhed and wriggled in the same manner as before, which made Kharn even angrier. The berserker champion leapt from boulder to boulder and then onto one of the altars where an unarmored Noise Marine and a daemonette lay, caught up in the throes of passion. Kharn snarled a spiteful curse and then raised his weapon.

It wasn't even a fight, seeing as his chainaxe descended with no trouble whatsoever and crunched into the Noise Marine's skull without hindrance. The fake warrior, if he had realized that he was even being killed, gave no sign of it as his head was torn into a pulpy mass of pink and bluish brain matter crimson blood. White and eerily purple skull fragments littered the floor as Gorechild bisected the man's skull completely and his laugh turned into a noisy gurgle. The chainaxe bit further into the new corpse as it spasmed, drawing closer to the daemonette.

Mica-dragon teeth bit into scaly daemon flesh and wisps of pink smoke rose from its form, spurting multicolored blood all over Kharn's armored body. The daemonette, not as reluctant to ignore pain as her dead partner, screamed a tormented curse as Gorechild snagged and ripped free collar and back bones and meaty muscle tissue. Kharn could have sworn that he saw a small tentacle fly past his helmet for a moment.

Kharn grew tired of the slower torment, and reached into the daemon's mouth, lashing a hand around its blue, serpentine tongue. He yanked the long appendage out of the daemon's gaping mouth and it tried to break free from his grasp, even after being disconnected from its owner's body. Kharn tossed it aside and rammed his fist back into the daemon's open and bleeding mouth, this time going for something much deeper. The berserker reached through soft tissue and clamped his armored fist around several misshapen vertebrae, ripping them free.

The daemonette's struggles ceased and Gorechild finished its work when it ceased to bite flesh and the corpse it had just bisected fell from the altar's surface…well, half of the corpse anyway. Innards and blood washed over the altar's surface like a torrent of red, murky water. Kharn stood back up and kicked aside the Noise Marine's filthy corpse, finding that it made a squishy noise as it hit the floor. Kharn raised his chainaxe high above his head and roared to the rest of the Slaaneshi bastards.

'My axe cries out for blood! Fight me and die worthy deaths you cowards! Blood for the Blood God!' And so the slaughter began…

* * *

Grimfang Bonekrakka hurried down the huge hallway toward one of the massive Roks that was to take him and several hundred other orks to the surface of the planet they hovered over in their gigantic space vessel, _Da Big Ship_. Grimfang's head swam with images of those he would be able to kill with his trusty choppa and his looted shoota that he had ripped from the dying hands of a umie back on the last planet they had invaded and killed the inhabitants of. That had been a fun scrap. Grimfang had taken a good number of teef in the first fight.

The Nob made his way past a few of the smaller orks and came to a halt with his fellow Nobs at one of the few benches in the giant, hollow meteor they were about to use to invade this planet. Orkamedes had devises this cunning strategy to destroy ground forces and get orks into the fight all at once. Instead of pods, or landing a ship on the surface, _Da Big Ship_ was to bombard the planet with massive meteors, crushing anything they hit on the surface and dropping their payload of orks into the fray.

There were occasional mishaps, but they were few and far between. Besides, what were the chances of Grimfang's Rok being hit by another Rok?

'Grimfang, look over 'ere!' yelled his fellow Nob, Goregrim. Goregrim was dark-skinned, even for an ork. His shoulders were extra wide and his hands were like meaty sledgehammers. Grimfang looked to where the ork's taloned finger was pointing. One of the Wyrdboyz was stirring up a huge ruckus on to of another, less smart Nob's big shoulders. Grimfang and Goregrim moved closer to hear what the strange ork was yelling about.

"We'z da orks, and we'z gotta fight ta show dat we'z da best clan out der! We'z da Stone Teef Clan! We'z gonna crush dem a-' Before he could finish his speech, the Wyrdboy's head exploded and a dozen or so of the surrounding orks had their heads explode as well. Grimfang and Goregrim both burst into laughter as the entire room filled with roaring approval for the explosion of blood and teef, the latter of which were soon collected through a small scrap which was subdued by another Wyrdboy's speech.

Soon though, the gigantic Rok was closed up after it had been filled to the brim with all the orks it could take. The huge, crud vessel was subsequently thrown into space by one of the great catapult-akin machines lining the port side of the ship. There was something like an explosion and the Rok was torn from the ship's side and made its way through the vacuum of space towards the planet. Grimfang gripped his trusty choppa tightly and checked his shoota to see if he had remembered to put ammo in it this time. He had almost gotten into a scrap that was too rough when he'd gone up against one of the "Bigga Umies" who had a gigantic left fist the size of a normal ork's body, without any ammo in his shoota. Of course, his choppa had done the work, but the fist had almost killed him.

Grimfang felt the heat rise within the Rok as it got closer to the planet. All around, there was a chant that was beginning to rise from the stronger of the two Wyrdboyz still alive in this ork-filled stone egg. Grimfang could see that the Wyrdboy had followed its dead fellow in hopping onto a Nob's bulky shoulders and raising his green staff high above his head. He let out a howl as the chant grey. It was maybe the first chant that the orks had ever known, and possible the last for most of the orks present as the Rok began to hit more atmospheric pressure.

'Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks!' the chant rang, as more and more orks contributed to it. Grimfang raised his double-headed choppa and let out a war cry as he joined in. He stomped his foot on the ground and others began to do the same, stomping their booted or bare feet to add to the noise that was filling the Rok. Grimfang heard something screaming from all around the Rok, and realized that the big door at the back of the vessel was coming open. He shouted another war cry and the Rok began to slow down. Orks looked in all directions to find the Wyrdboy controlling them, but both of the strange orks were busy shouting their war chants. Grimfang felt the floor beneath his feet begin to shake. After a few moments, the floor began to rumble and then fall away in great chunks, dozens of others falling through the gaping holes that were appearing.

Seconds later, orange and white blurs came through the holes and tore into the Rok's innards, maiming and blasting apart orks left and right. Grimfang surged through the mob of hundreds of shouting orks and to the great door at the back, which was about to come open. Goregrim and a few other Nobs joined him as he hit the door and it shrieked in protest. He smashed at it with his choppa and the others followed in suit. Soon, they had dozens of orks hitting the door, and it soon broke open with an explosive noise.

Grimfang snatched up the Wyrdboy that had wandered over to him and peered out of the Rok. They were close to the ground now, and Grimfang could see buildings below, flashes of fire telling him that these defenders were shooting the Rok as it soared across the sky and down toward them. Grimfang nodded to the orks behind him and jumped out of the Rok. Momentarily, everything seemed to stop as he looked down and saw the Rok descending far bwlow him with big bullets and lasers harrying away at its stone exterior, orks pouring from its form like ants from a hill of dirt.

The Wyrdboy now on Grimfang's back shouted with excitement as his hands and staff began to glow green. Grimfang prayed to Gork and Mork that the ork wasn't about to blow his head up before the scrap started.

And then Grimfang realized that the ground was rising to meet him with appalling speed. He braced his knees for impact and hit one of the rooftops with a thunderous roar. He crashed through the plascrete ceiling and then through a floor of the same material, his boots already torn away from his feet. His huge arms were cut and lacerated all over, but he didn't even register the wounds. He crashed through another ceiling before thudding to the floor with rocks and metal piping crashing down upon his head. He shook off the feeling of hurt and discomfort coming from the vicinity of his bleeding knees and made an effort to stand.

It took him three tries to get to his feet, but when he did, the pain was lifted from his body. He turned around to see that the Wyrdboy was holding his hands up and green light was flowing all around him. Grimfang let out a roar and charged down the length of the hallway he ahd stopped in, leaving the Wyrdboy to his own effects. Grimfang battered down a door with the butt of his shoota and found that on the other side of the door was a small collection of umies. With a snarl, he aimed his shoota and fired. The head of the nearest umie exploded into brains and blood.

Grimfang heard the terrified shrieks of the others and smacked one in the head with his choppa, decapitating the woman from the neck up. He fired his shoota wildly, maiming and blowing off the limbs of his defenseless foes. Before long, he had depleted the supply of umies in the room, and kicked down the nearest door to find more of them. Unfortunately, when he managed to get through the doorway, it led into a maintenance closet and he scowled at the wall.

With a mighty fist, he punched the wall and the material crumbled before his knuckles. He smashed it against and again, trying to break free of the tiny room to which he had been temporarily confined. He hadn't even thought of backing out, because it was un-orky to go backwards to go forward! Every good ork knew that! So Grimfang smashed the wall with his fist until his hand, and his entire arm to the shoulder in fact, went through the wall and out the other side. On his hand, he felt something wet and a loud explosion rang out all around him. He pulled his tree trunk-thick arm back and looked through the hole. He could see outside the building, and it was raining heavily. Explosions and fires and weapons firing lit up the street below, and he spied Goregrim's huge horned helmet down below.

Grimfang backed up and ground what few teeth he had left after Goregrim had punched them out yesterday. He jumped forward and the wall crumbled under his massive bulk. His huge green form flew out the massive hole and he plummeted to the ground…right on top of half a platoon of PDF troopers. He felt and heard bones snap and terrified screams of the fresh dead. Grimfang shook his head and Goregrim looked down at him, huge choppa inches from his fellow Nob's head. The two looked at each other for a short moment before Goregrim cracked a tusked grin.

'You'z stealin' my umies, Grimfang. I'z gonna hafta beat more teef outta you after dis scrap!' Goregrim shouted to his Nob friend in his odd sense of humor. Grimfang snarled as he pushed himself to his feet.

'Der's more den enuf teef around 'ere ta get you a better shoota from da Mekboyz. Shut up and get fightin' ya mangy grot!'

'I bet I gets more umie teef den you!' Goregrim yelled. Grimfang blasted the head of a drying PDF trooper into bone fragments and blood. He collected several teeth from the rubble nearby and grinned.

'I bets _I_ get more den _you_!' Grimfang shouted back as he raced off into the stormy rubble of the city, bellowing challenges and swinging his choppa around at everything within arm's reach.


	10. Chapter 10

'Go! Leave me!' Kharn roared to the servitors as he kicked one out of his massive living space, shouldering the great double door shut and sliding the huge steel beam into place as a lock. He scowled at Khoria, who stood innocently by the massive work bench that spanned the opposite wall. Kharn's deep-seated glare fell upon her and she backed away, even though she was nearly thirty strides away.

'Warmaster, I am sorry fo-'

'You are worthless! I cannot conceive the incompetence that you possess! I have the mind to force your head into the blood fountain and drown you for your unparalleled stupidity!' he snarled, slashing the trough of blood lining his room's walls and splashing blood all over the floor around his feet. He let Gorechild settle before stomping over to his skull-covered throne. The berserker set his axe down next to the throne and then turned his intense glare back upon Khoria. She paled visibly as the red lenses of his helmet began to glow with the fury that his real eyes possessed. Kharn stalked over to her and the woman managed to hold her ground without crying out for mercy.

Kharn's gauntleted hand lunged for her neck and closed around the soft flesh. He pushed her back against the work table, clearing away all the bits and pieces where she lay. His hand tightened around her neck and she gasped for breath. Her face began to turn red and Kharn snarled. He could easily break her bones and crush her windpipe. He could drown her in her own blood and watch her writhe about on the floor until she finally died. Yes, there were many things he could and _wanted_ to do. But he had chosen her, and Khorne had some plan for her, Kharn was sure of that. Still, it did little to ease his rage. The berserker let out a frustrated grunt and threw Khoria across the floor, watching her come to an abrupt stop as her shoulder was snagged on the blood-filled floor molding.

She let out a pained squeak and Kharn stomped away, throwing back open the doors to his personal quarters and leaving the room. Servitors and crewmen avoided him like a plague, their gazes terrified or blank depending on the amount of cerebral and cybernetic augmentations. Kharn did not desire to have any contact with another living thing unless it wanted to kill him and he wanted to kill it. He snarled with frustration, unable to accurately say what caused him such rage. He didn't like the fact that he had been captured through Khoria's stupidity, and the fact that the had been captured at all was infuriating even more so than her stupidity!

Kharn saw Luruk the Ripper walking the hallway with a huge mutton stick in his hand, ripping great chunks of meat off with his fanged teeth. His dagger-like nose was covered with blood and his left eye, the blind one, burned red with daemonic wytchsight, allowing him to literally "see" emotions and daemons as he would see normal, real things. Kuruk took a single look at Kharn and stepped aside, pressing his back against the wall as Kharn passed him. Luruk knew that Kharn was fuming angry, and that the littlest thing would set him off like a promethium tank hit with a rocket salvo. Kharn didn't even so much as glance at his Chosen Bloodletter.

The Khornate Champion made his way through the_ Blooded Hand_ without a real defined destination. He needed to kill something, but he didn't desire to thin the ranks of his chapter any more than he already had. Collecting berserkers was as difficult as trying to kill a behemoth kraken of Pirkei IV without Gorechild. Kharn's memories drifted back to that fight for a few moments, and he recalled having to dig his way into the thing's massive, dreadnaught-sized heart and blowing its to bits with his plasma pistol before it died.

The champion shook his head and entered one of the places on his ship that had been warped by the power of Chaos. The leering gargoyles and faces were absolutely hideous. Each had tasks and fangs the sized of steak knives. Some had faces upon their maws, or serpentine tongues with strange growths coming off their surfaces. One had a tentacle coming out of its eye and a great horn jutting from its temple. Kharn knew this place well. He had allowed this place to become so corrupted for a reason: this was the Chaos Sanctuary. This was the place where blood leaked _naturally_ from the walls and where daemons resided to help guide him upon the path of his god.

Every leering face was that of a champion of Khorne that had turned against his god and devoted himself to another of the Chaos Gods. Kharn had hunted down and cut the head off each and every one of them, forcing them to serve his crew and ship for the rest of their immortal existences. One of them stared at Kharn with contempt, a spiraled horn jutting from both eye sockets and a large, pineal eye staring at the champion with contempt. This had been a traitor-navigator once allied with the Space Wolves. This was one of the few pieces of living decoration that could actually talk.

'Why have you returned? Are we not punished enough without your filthy presence being known?' spat Dorian Belisarius.

'Quiet, before I decide to mount you on the prow of my ship. You betrayed Khorne, and this is but a fraction of what you deserve for it,' Kharn retorted, balling his fists at the arrogance of the navigator.

'I would very much like to hear this discussion go further and become more violent, but I fear that I must intrude upon you for a moment,' said an unfamiliar voice that Kharn found the tone of very irritating. He whirled around to find a figure standing before him, a robe about its body. From one of the robe's sleeves, a withered old hand clutched a staff of blue stone, tipped with the symbol of Tzeench and a blue flame surrounding it. Kharn had to look down because of the newcomer's shortness, but the difference in height didn't seem to faze the thing at all, because it stared up at Kharn with glowing golden eyes. Beneath its eyes was a wide, white-fanged grin.

'Who are you and why are you here? Speak before I make the hole in your face larger,' Kharn growled.

'Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, and you may call me-'

Kharn rammed his armored fist into the newcomer's cowl, feeling bone and brain crunch and squish beneath the impact. His fist left the opposite side of the cowl and Kharn relaxed a bit, the sight of blood taking the sting out of his rage. He withdrew his fist from the robed figure's head and grunted.

'You're all the same, too much talk and magic, not enough action.' Kharn turned to begin again with Dorian.

'Well that wasn't very nice. I was about to say that my name was Vanon. I can see why you have such a hard time collecting your berserkers if you kill everyone that speaks more than three words at a time,' said the _same_ voice that Kharn had just silenced. The champion whirled around and stared at the small figure before him, standing as if he hadn't just rammed a fist through its head. It pulled the cowl from its head, and revealed a shaven head with a mask of bright gold and deep blue with the symbol of Tzeench upon it. Kharn realized that this was a man, not a daemon or apparition. This was a sorcerer of the Thousand Sons.

'I will kill you again, sorcerer, if you do not tell me why you are here.'

'I am here to offer you a chance at taking skulls and drawing blood on a scale of truly epic proportions,' Vanon replied in a smug tone. Kharn balled his fist again and the sorcerer simply grinned again, showing his fanged teeth through the open space in his ornate masks.

'I have destroyed entire hive worlds, brought systems of millions to the brink of destruction with only this ship and my warriors. What can you offer me that I cannot obtain of my own accord?' asked Kharn.

'I can offer you a chance at the legions of the Emperor. You are humbly asked to join the greatest Host of Chaos that has ever been assembled. Eighteen factions of Chaos have banded together already to attack the Guratin System. This is your opportunity to show your god how devoted you are to his cause.'

'What does this have to do with me? I can do more on my own than your "Host" can in a year! Why should I join you?'

'Because the Imperium already fights orks all over the system, and several chapters of loyalists and the Ecclesiarchy have sent forces to reinstate their authority. There are nearly thirty worlds in the system, and the eldar have recently come to claim one of the outer planets for their own purposes. A Tyranid splinter fleet has begun it invasion and brought the Emperor's Scythes into the fray. Kharn, this is the largest gathering of ravenous warriors that has ever been assembled. With the addition of the World Eaters, the Host will be able to join this gathering and the bloodshed will commence.'

'You have not answered my question,' replied Kharn. The Thousand Sons were tricky, and would stab any of their number in the back for power or knowledge. Kharn was not so easily fooled by this sorcerer. He knew that this was most likely a ploy for the Thousand Sons to draw in their enemies and destroy them at the expense of the "Host" that was to be formed. For all Kharn knew, this could be a trap to destroy him and his chapter's strongest companies. The champion stood firm as Vanon frowned.

'I have offered you bloodshed of several different races on a scale of unimaginable proportions. And still you say no? What more do you want?'

'Who founded the Host?' Kharn was not going if a Thousand Son sorcerer champion had devised the Host to be formed.

'One of the Fallen of the Dark Angels. He contacted several of the smaller factions before going to the Word Bearers and the Thousand Sons. You are the final piece to his game, so said he.' Vanon looked nervous, and Kharn surmised that failure was going to get the man killed. As promising and as tempting as it was to say no, he could not deny the fact that there would be other who worshiped Khorne present in the host. Kharn might be able to reconstruct another company out of those who had the utmost devotion to their patron deity of blood and slaughter.

'The World Eaters will be present at the battle, but only if the Fallen agrees to my demand,' Kharn replied.

'Yes, whatever you demand is, I'm very sure that he will be more than accommodating to whatever you wish,' the sorcerer replied, his outlook on the situation suddenly much brighter and his mind returning to scheming against everything that was not him. Kharn balled his fists against and controlled his anger at the memory of the Siege of Terra floating back to him. A slight, angry grin broke out upon his face and he focused back on Vanon.

'Tell the bastard, that he must break his sword in two, and give me whichever half he does not want. If he does not, then I will rally every company left in my legion and all those who follow Khorne under my banner. And we will destroy your Host before it can leave the damned world it resides on. Of this is can say without any fear of your entire force: the Fallen will submit his pride, or he will break his army where it lies. Now be gone!'

And with that, the sorcerer conjured his magic to his staff and left the room in a flash of golden light followed by blue vapor being sucked into nothingness. There was an icy chill to the air that made the hair on the back of Kharn's neck rise. He had never liked magic, and now he was about to be drawn into a battle where half of his potential allies or enemies used it commonly. He left the sanctuary without another word, the door warping shut behind him as his footfalls left the vicinity. Kharn was getting sucked into an unwanted war for a traitor of a fanatic chapter, his forces were badly outnumbered by those he wanted to made enemies out of, and on top of all that: that damned Adeptus Mechanicus enginseer was still an enigma that Kharn was unable to even begin unraveling!

* * *

Farseer Thanwe Golmar of the Biel Tan Craftworld took a deep breath to calm her nerves and set about positioning the scout parties along the ridge that stretched for miles over the distant mountain range. She had many weeks of work to do, and only eighteen days to do all of it in…if that long. She turned to the warlock, Athlok, and nodded. The warrior-seer understood the gesture and led several squads of guardians down the slope, a falcon grav tank right behind them.

Next to the Farseer was Geloa, the leader of the Howling Banshee Aspect under Thanwe's command. The woman sat atop a rock, her twin wraithbone blades ready in each armored fist. She seemed to sense Thanwe's discomfort at the chill and slid off the large rock and into the snow with grace that very few wouldn't envy like it was a blessing from Asuryan himself. Geloa let out a deep, thoughtful sigh and then examined the ridge ahead of the elder force. The sound of the Webway being used to move troops to the planet's surface was unmistakable in the background of the wind and snow falling all around.

'Farseer, we have been through worse. Do you not remember the time we were forced to gain Khaine's undying favor in the ive caves of Oranat VI to keep from freezing to death?' the howling banshee exarch leader asked cheekily. Thanwe shuddered and the memory.

'Yes, and I would rather not right now. I will never go scouting with you again, Exarch Geloa, not after that,' said Thanwe, trying to shake the memories of "gaining Khaine's undying favor" from her head. She cleared her mind and then motioned far out on the ridge. Geloa understood and led her squad of warriors along the rough path toward her objective. Thanwe felt the presence of the wraithguard behind her and turned to face them. She was mildly surprised to see that nearly all of the wraithguard of the first wave were present at this time, all seven hundred of them.

'Farseer, we are yours to command. Where shall we face the enemy?' spoke the leader of the abnormally large attachment. Thanwe pointed her staff down into the valley below and then to the second ridge line leading directly east of their current position.

'Split your forces among the designated warlocks and move along the ridge and the valley floor. We are nearing the first human zone, so be wary of what you shoot and see,' Thanwe spoke confidently. Very soon now, the war would begin here, and they would destroy the ancient threat to the galaxy before it could awaken. Thanwe had but one objective for her life at the moment, and that was securing these mountains and all entrances into them. She ahd to black off anyone who would interfere with this course of action to help save thousands of elder lives. She only hoped that the Tyranids wouldn't make their objective this planet next. She still needed time to complete her mission.

Thanwe took another calming breath and watched as her forces began to spread across the surrounding area, wraithlords and falcon grav tanks guarding any infantry, howling banshees moving with otherworldly grace and swiftness. Everything here was moving as it should, and all looked well for the moment. She couldn't help but think that the mission might go on without outside interference. If so, then nobody would have to die and the threat buried deep within these mountains would be eliminated for the rest of eternity.

Of course, that was if it hadn't already awoken from its deep slumber.


	11. Chapter 11

The _Blooded Hand_ left the Warp at a location undisclosed even to Kharn himself, although he knew that it was well within the reaches of the Eye of Terror. Kharn stood on the foredeck of the bridge of his ship, surveying the huge arcs of lightning surrounding them. All manner of Warp lightning and disturbance danced across the background of the visage playing before Kharn's eyes and those of his crew. Before them was a planet, and the fleet assembled around it was of a group that Kharn himself hadn't seen before anywhere but Terra.

There were dozens of ships, of all manner and size. Kharn's own vessel was dwarfed by three in particular, all of which were surrounded by a retinue of smaller and tiny ships that were exchanging battle blows and small salvos in hatred for each other. Kharn let out a pleased growl as he found other ships decked in crimson and brass and with the rune of Khorne upon their great sides. Kharn ordered the direction of his own ship to be diverted toward those who also served Khorne. He was very pleased to see that not everyone had gone unnoticed, and that his fellow berserkers would manage to have sway within the council that was to take place on the surface of this Chaos-twisted planet.

The _Blooded Hand_ entered firing range of the other ships in the service of Khorne, and communications flickered to life behind Kharn. He spun to see a servitor with a large viewscreen grafted onto his chest striding forth and turning the thing on. Immediately, the face of another champion of Khorne was revealed, and Kharn turned his entire body to face the man's image.

'Kharn of the World Eaters?' the champion asked.

'You know my name, but I don't know yours. I should know the name of a fellow berserker,' Kharn replied, letting Gorechild rest across his shoulder lazily. The other champion yelled something to a few men in the back of his own command deck and then turned his attention back to Kharn.

'I am Dhar Bloodgorger of the Skull Takers. It is a bloody honor to meet another champion of Khorne,' said the man, clamping a fist to his chest. Kharn regarded him in the same manner and the viewscreen went to static. The servitor nodded to Kharn and scurried back to its duties as the champion turned back to the view of the planet ahead. Not for the first time, he wondered what the Fallen could be planning. Kharn was still bitter over being killed by one of the original Dark Angels on Terra after a teleportation field had brought what few green-armored warriors there were to be had. His bitter hatred and distrust of the Chapter ran deep, and even one who served Chaos was not going to earn his trust, ever.

Planet-side, Kharn met up with the gathering of berserker champions, and they had obviously been waiting for him. There were the Apostles of Minthras, whose armor was red with a silver trim. Their champion was flanked by two bloodletter daemons and the man himself carried a banner of red with a black skull on it, the forehead of which was branded with n eight pointed star of Chaos. Another faction was the Claws of Lorek, who adorned black armor with a red trim. The Skull Takers had traditional red armor with a brass trim, and their champion, Dhar, was impatient to get into the huge, warped building that was to be the council chamber until further notice.

Kharn strode up to the huge building with the other Khronate champions, hoping that this council would end sooner rather than later. He wanted to be done with this invasion and be back to his own accord and devices. He did not like being drawn into a conflict where he was not the deciding commander. And looking around at his fellow berserkers, he could tell that they didn't like this either. They would much rather be slaughtering things of their own choice. Who knew, maybe Kharn could recruit some of them to the World Eaters and begin rebuilding a chapter consisting of purely berserkers and close combat infantry?

Kharn threw the thoughts aside as he entered the massive blue structure made of stone. He had seen hundred of Gothic-styled buildings destroyed and turned to rubble in his time, but this was bizarre even so. The entire building, the interior as well, resembled an Imperial Gothic structure, but it was ruined and destroyed as well. The stones were uneven and warped all manner of color by the taint that surrounded this system. Gargoyle and daemon faces shifted and screamed with agony and pain from every angle, and some of them even had dark, murky liquid spewing forth from their mouths. Even more bizarre were those that looked as if they were daemons of Nurgle, faces completely unrecognizable save for a gigantic maw for each of them, filled with shark teeth and snake fangs alike.

Kharn and the others made their way through the hall, trying to ignore the strange and provocative noises filtering through the faces lining the wall. The ceiling had gotten progressively higher, and it looked as if some of the gargoyles that hung by clawed feet were actually, livng and breathing things that had spilled over from the Warp. Many watched with stone gazes as Kharn glared all around, expecting some manner of trickery or sorcery to betray him. He had very little to lose from being wary here. All of his rivals and mortal enemies had gathered here for a meeting, which could only end in bloodshed.

He sighed with displeasure, finding his only comfort to be that there were others devoted to Khorne with him. He wasn't going to have to fight alone if a disagreement called for such a thing. Vaguely, he wished that he had brought more than Veridun, one of his trusted Chosen Bloodletters. The berserker walked silently, a twin-headed power axe in his tightly-closed fists. Kharn could always trust this berserker to help him in any fight. Veridun's brute strength and fury had won many battles and turned the tides of several campaigns. Kharn could only recall a few times where Veridun hadn't killed at least fifty foes in a battle.

But for the moment, Kharn was waiting for this damned hallway to end! He could see straight ahead, but it seemed like he was turning. He knew that the Warp had many twisted, often impossible features, such as moving forward while falling down. Kharn could grasp only the most basic complexes of the Warp, and he held to them. No Thousand Son was going to trick him here. He understood that there was sorcery here, and the Warp did not bend like this at random. No, Kharn was sure that sorcery was keeping the real location of the council hidden until his mind was unaware.

As if by its mere being thought of would cause it to be revealed, Kharn found himself walking into a massive, domed room with a circular table made of black stone, with similar black chairs set around it. Most of these chairs were already filled by those who had come to earn their place in the council. Kharn saw that several sorcerers of Tzeench were seated at one section, their blue and gold in stark contrast to the deep green and red banner that was set upon the wall behind them. The black walls were lined with such banners, and many trophies of skull sand weapons and helms of all kind. Absent were those of the Space Marines, save for a single green one of the Dark Angels pattern.

Off in another section were three champions that talked amongst themselves. Kharn recognized their colored armor as the Night Lords, the Word Beares, and the Iron Warriors. The Night lord had a large, swirling cloud of black miasma and smoke about his form, and a double-headed flail in one hand. The Word Bearer held a massive human flesh-bound tome written in blood runes in one hand and a massive, spiked staff in the other. He seemed to be a sort of Dark Apostle, although he was not said spiritual leader of the legion. The Iron Warrior was a massive marine at the very least, decked in terminator armor. His head was encased in a large, if not excessively thick helmet with deep, sunken eyes that glowed yellow. A power hammer was slung over his shoulder lazily, green light emitting from its head.

'Bloodmaster, the followers of the Hated One have not arrived,' Varidun said, apparently searching for the Shaaneshi cult champions. Kharn shrugged at the empty seats that had the symbol of the pleasure god before them. Shaanesh was not known to be wise or talented at anything besides having things rammed into every orifice upon his tainted body. Kharn couldn't wait for the day that Khorne would shove his huge runesword down the god's throat and end his defiled existence. Looking across the table, the Khornate champions found Nurgle's servants sitting in their oversized thrones. Their bloated, rotting bodies were surrounded by flies, and little nurglings danced upon their massive bellies, causing the elk-horned monstrosities to laugh and gurgle with their distorted voices. One of them coughed up a huge ball of snot and stomach acid and grinned.

'Khorne's servants come to help Grandfather Nurgle in his quest to kill all that lives! Please, join us over here! There are seats aplenty left by the Fallen's table of Chaos!' one of the large champions blurted, a few of his tiny nurglings dashing across the table to dance in front of the seats that their master was talking about. Kharn didn't hesitate to move, and let the band of Khornate champions over to the black table. They rounded it and took their seats near Nurgle's servants, glad to be away from the magic users and hedonistic cowards. Nurgle was Khorne's rival as well, but a lesser one compared to the other powers of Chaos.

'Yorrik Phlegmspitter, the last time I hacked at you was Carikus. Everything there was already bleeding to death before I arrived,' Kharn spat bitterly, though acknowledging the champion's prowess as a sign of respect. Yorrik coughed up a ball of mucus and glowing bits of organic material, shaping it with his power of plague into another nurgling that danced before Kharn like a thing gone mad. The berserker slapped it away and it cried out in terror before splattering against its master's bloated and open belly. Ropy intestines and innards that were sticking out of Yorrik's body tangled around the thing and sucked it back in, only to be purged again from a hole near Yorrik's shoulder.

'You never did like anything that didn't bleed excessively. Oh well, Papa Nurgle can provide a few plagues that will make things bleed through their eyes. I remember the last time we met, you ripped a hole in my shoulder and spilled most of mine. Tell me, is it still there, the hole?' Yorrik asked as if he were talking about something that hadn't almost killed him. Kharn leaned back and saw that the gaping wound was not only still there, but had grown and been polluted. Bubbling boils and black ooze dripped from its form. It had grown teeth as well, needle-like things with a large bone connecting two of them near the middle. It seemed to be smiling at Kharn, a tentacle writhing around in the wound like a tongue.

Kharn shrugged as he saw the other berserker champions talking amongst themselves, eagerly wanted to be gone from this place and get closer to the killing. They were in the Eye of Terror, nearly six thousand light-years away from the Guratin system in the Segmentum Tempestus. He examined how Yorrik had changed since their last encounter.

The huge champion had definitely gotten much fatter and bloated, and looked more rotten than their last encounter as well. He had more puss-leaking wounds and his skin was tinted a bit less green, to be replaced with white and grey mixed into the color of sickness and filth. His head was no longer a head, but a bloated tumor of flesh upon what looked to be massive, squat shoulders. Yorrik's eyes were shining white with green pupils, but sunken deep within his misshapen skull. Out of the right section of his forehead, two great antlers sprouted up and forked off, sometimes connecting back and entangling with each other.

On the right side of his head, there was a large orkish tusk jutting from his temple, yellow pustule and bile squirting from its end at random, dripping down the side for one of the Nurglish champion's two tongues to lick up. That led Kharn to the monstrous mouth. It was filled with every sort of teeth, flat and square, some like those of a shark, many like tiny needles. There were even tusks like those of a walrus. Behind them lurked a tongue that looked more like a tentacle than anything, its purple form slinking around, waiting for something else to devour. The other tongue was a long, serpentine thing of a pale pink color.

The rest of him seemed only bloated, discolored, or rotting, huge shoulders and tree trunk arms. His belly was gigantic and many organs, a few that had never been part of his anatomy, spilled out onto his girth. Kharn couldn't see his legs, although he could only imagine how warped and misshapen they looked. Maybe Yorrik had grown a few slug parts like he had desired and was able to simply crawl around without hindrance. It seemed very likely considering the champion left a trail of slime wherever he "scuttled" anywhere, or whatever he did to get around.

Varidun nudged Kharn and both World Eaters looked over to another doorway directly across the large table from where they were sitting. It was opening slowly, and it was making a fair amount of noise as it did so. Soon enough, it was open and a retinue of small daemons made the way for a large, armored man in deep, pristine green armor with black paudrons and a green trim as well. Upon the man's armored form was a monk's robe, black and splattered with dried gore here and there, and with a thick robe around the waist. Upon each of his paudrons was the eight pointed star of Chaos Undivided. He made his way into the room, flanked by a Thousand Son sorcerer lord on either side.

Kharn was immediately wary and distrusting of this man. Even a follower of Chaos could not be trusted, and Kharn was sure that this one was most definitely not going to keep to his word. If need be, Kharn could kill him here and be done with this silly gathering soon. Gorechild's jagged teeth whirred with the anticipation of blood and slaughter.

'Welcome, all worthy champions of Chaos. I trust you all know why you have been gathered here?' the Fallen said in a snide voice. There were nods of affirmation from most of the champions. The Fallen was about to take his seat on a dais that was beginning to float a few hands above the floor. The sorcerers walked back to their own chapter's allies and took their seats. The Fallen tilted his head to the side.

'It seems that our brethren from Slanesh's cult have not arrived yet,' said the man, running a green-armored hand over his completely shaven head. His grey eyes did not share the concern in his voice. They looked sinister, as if plotting something.

'Too busy shoving hooks and poles where they don't belong,' Kharn offered up with a snarl. The other champions had mixed responses. All of those who followed Khorne bellowed great laughter, and even Yorrik and another Nurglish champion chuckled. The Wolrd Beared and Night Lord champions simply nodded in agreement. The Fallen shrugged.

'Well, even so, we have gathered five champions of Tzeench, four champions of Nurgle, four champions of Khorne, and three from Chaos Undivided. We have gathered for a purpose: to bring about the destruction of the Imperium. There are many adversaries to be fought, and many more to be sacrificed to our gods to summon daemons to assist us. We have but to turn the key and open the path to victory.' The Fallen's voice carried sway with a few of those who had been wavering. Kharn folded his arms across his chest, Gorechild still in his firm grip. He was not convinced in the slightest.

'Did the sorcerer of the Thousand Sons tell you of my demand in joining your folly?' Kharn asked in a bitter tone.

'Indeed. And I am…most troubled by the lack of trust you have put in me. Nevertheless, what you have demanded shall be provided,' said the man as he drew his great blade and slid half of it onto the table. With a mighty swing, the Fallen brought his free hand down and snapped the blade in half. The power sword's hilt flickered for a moment and then fizzled. The Fallen tossed Kharn the blade half and the berserker smashed it to pieces with Gorechild's axehead. He swept the pieces onto the floor.

'Now, with that...demand out of the way, what are we to discuss?' asked the Word Bearer champion, idly reading his great tome of horror and dark rituals. The Fallen sheathed what was left of his blade and sat upon the floating dais, surveying the gathering closely.

'Troop deployment, my friend Tolarak,' replied the Fallen. Immediately, there rose a hologram of the Guratin system, the two suns and twenty eight planets all present, as well as the many moons and other satellites that were present. seventeen of the spheres and their moons were tan in color, two grey, and two green. The others were a plain white color. The Fallen pointed to the cluster of brown planets. 'Here are Imperial garrisons and a chapel of the Raven Guard Chapter. The Mortificators have also set up outposts upon two of these worlds. We are sure to encounter naval forces and Ecclesiarchial reinforcements for the Space Marines already there. I am open to suggestions gentlemen, proceed,' finished the Fallen, sitting back in his dais.

The Thousand Sons lead sorcerer lord took the lead and the large holographic map shifted towards him slightly.

'We should move in near Gertai I and Gertai II,' he said. As he did, two planets darkened to deep blue. 'It is at the edge of the system, and furthest from Imperial fleet movements. From here, we may establish a foothold and move from there.'

'I believe,' started Yorrik, the holographic image flickering and then shifting towards him. 'that we should enter the system through the most populated area, such as Guratin IV and let the plague we of Nurgle have provided, spread from there. Both Nurgle and Khorne can increase the likelihood of a victory, and we will have a firm foothold in the system, including several thousand corpse-slaves. Our brethren of the Iron Warriors will not tarry so long with siege if they have slave-help. This satisfies all our needs,' he stated. The designated planet turned deathly green and all the tan that had been there faded. Kharn stood up and swept his axe through the planet in the dead center of the system. It turned crimson red and the berserker shouted.

'Strike in the middle and spread from the planet in all directions!' Everyone looked at Kharn as if he were speaking of returning to the Emperor's service. Yorrik raised what looked to be his eyebrows and then raised a huge talon above his head.

'Spread a plague through the second rim of planets to slow them down maybe? You can't have all the fighting done yourself,' he chided. Kharn glared, but nodded all the same, never once removing his axe from the image. The Fallen looked over to the Thousand Sons and whispered something. The Word Bearer stood up and the image shifted towards him.

'Enter through the death world and spread the word of Chaos to the garrisons of normal Guardsmen present. Our forces will be bolstered, and the Iron Warriors will have less siege warfare to be burdened with.' The champion of the Steel Brethren stood and the image shifted yet again. He spread his arms out wide.

'Enter through all of the outer rim planets through orbital drops and spread inward! Trap the Imperium's finest in a vice and let no one escape!' he shouted, a fist clenched in the air. The rim plaets shimmered silver. Others threw in their plans as well, but nobody was able to agree with anything anyone offered. The Fallen simply sat and waited, watching every plan rise and fall due to conflicting preferences and loyalties. And so the council began, and ran on for a great many hours without an end in sight, tensions running high. It seemed that this great invasion was falling apart at the seams before it was to begin!


	12. Chapter 12

Kharn the Betrayer stood on the deck of the _Blooded Hand_ and went through the council's plans of action against the Imperium. He was tired, for the day that it had taken to formulate the plan had been tiring, and surprisingly bloodless. Kharn had only thrown Gorechild into the head of one Thousand Son and sent his soul back into the Warp, screaming curses and litanies to the corrupted Magnus. Kharn snarled. He wished to have killed more of those sorcerer-bastards, but then everyone would have gone against him. Try as Kharn might, he couldn't convince himself that he could kill everyone in that room by himself. Varidun was formidable indeed, but even those odds had been too much.

Kharn stared down at the little nurgling Yorrik had sent with him on his ship, the little creature staring back up at Kharn with greedy, black orbs that were supposed to be eyes. Yorrik had allowed Kharn to communicate with Nurgle's champions while in the Warp. Kharn didn't know why the bloated monstrosity was being so friendly and forthcoming. He was suspicious, but then again, they had a fairly smooth history together…about as smooth as two champions of different Chaos Gods could have. Still, Kharn had no quarrel with the thing, and so he took the nurgling without a fight.

He let out a frustrated growl and spun on heel, planning to return to his personal quarters. Things were so frustrating these days. And it was all that mechanicus woman's fault! Before she had arrived, Kharn had slaked his thirst for blood and his hunger for skulls wherever he had pleased, slaughtering planets' populations by the thousands. But now, after something she had done to him, he was frustrated and more confused, no longer just furious and filled with rage. It was something that he had come to realize over the past few days: he had changed. It hadn't been much, just a subtlety of emotions, but it was still there. And he did not like it at all.

Kharn opened the door to the bridge and a voice like that of a plague lord filled his augmented ears. He looked to its source and found the little nurgling hopping after him, its mouth agape. The voice was Yorrik's, and it was coming from the nurgling.

'Kharn the Betrayer is angered about the battle plan?' asked the wise champion from somewhere else in the rugged sea of the Warp.

'Yes, I am furious. That Fallen bastard, the Thousand Sons. I'll have their heads by the time this campaign comes to an end,' Kharn snarled, effectively hiding the real reason for his anger. He changed his direction and headed for the Blood Hall to find something to rip apart with Groechild until he felt better. Who knew, maybe he'd find a marine who wanted to challenge him?

'Do not feel so angry, champion of Khorne. I dislike this plan too, and I believe that I have found a way to strike back at Tzeench's champions and further our own goals. If you are interested, I can elaborate…' The old champion was wise, and Kharn knew that he was perhaps a better schemer than himself. Kharn had never been praised by his god at being a good articulator of plans or rituals. Not that he was stupid or foolish. He could learn to plot and scheme with time, but he did not desire, nor would he ever, to do so. He found the Nurglish champion's offer alluring.

'Yes, explain to me who I am allowed to kill. I wish to be rid of this folly and back to my own slaughter soon. Hurry up, speak Yorrik,' barked Kharn as he made his way down the hall. The nurgling hopped after him on mismatched limbs of bone and rotting meat. It seemed to grin, much like its master was probably doing on his own vessel.

'Good then. You understand that Covalito III is a death world, and so…'

* * *

Chaplain Darnath of the Mortificators chapter stood before the space marines sent to this outpost on Covalito II and smiled with grim satisfaction. These were good soldiers, fresh recruits of their homeworld. He was proud to have them as part of his detachment to this planet. It wasn't something that he'd like to admit, but he did not like it here. It was too civilized, far too boring and oppressive to the forces of nature and instinct that Darnath and these space marines had grown up with. This place was said to be something of a training ground for the fresher troops of the Mortificators chapter. Darnath now saw the reason for it being called so: it was unbearable.

This place could take the most patient of men and fray at his sanity until it was nonexistent! Darnath knew that his brothers needed something to do besides scrimshaw bones and recite litanies or they might practice the cannibalism that they had learned on their homeworld. He sighed, remembering why it was that they had all been taught the practice. Well, one of the main reasons they did it was to strengthen a warrior's spirit and give him power above that which he had consumed. It served to make them stronger, more able to make the tough decisions in war. It also served to help them along with their chapter's long history of dourness, and indeed, a man could very well become dour carving up bones and undergoing mortification for years on end.

Cannibalism also made them extremely resistant to the powers of Chaos. Darnath had seen firsthand what this kind of power could do for Space Marines. Most of the other chapters, especially the Dark Angels, found the practice barbaric and borderline heresy. More than once, the Inquisition had come to make sure they weren't doing anything in the name of the Chaos Gods. Darnath's mind briefly wandered off into the past, where he had seen his own marines consuming the flesh of heretics when they were starving on a death world in a useless conflict. They had remained unharmed by the mutating powers of Chaos, and he had seen them all grow into fine, strong warriors of the Imperium. Only the strongest of Chaos sorcerers could mutate the Mortificators, and even then, he had seen men shoot themselves in the head rather than become pawns of the enemy.

Yes, Darnath was very proud to be one of this chapter's chaplains. He was in charge of a good bit of recruiting from their home, and he particularly pleased with this group of warriors. They were steady, stubborn men, just like the rest of their chapter. Darnath had seen Morgve, one of the older recruits, without his helm. The chaplain had been mildly surprised to see that the marine had undergone self-flaying and undergone some of the more extreme rituals to purify oneself. Darnath turned on heel as he heard someone approaching from down in the valley. Heavy footfalls signaled that there were two people approaching up the long line of steps that led up to the bunker and recess area.

Darnath looked down to find Zakeiv and another Space Marine of a different chapter. Darnath rested against his large, eagle-headed battle staff. As the Mortificator and the Raven Guard approached, Darnath could see that the man in his chapter had a grim look on his face. At the bottom of the valley, just beyond the steps, were several dozen Space Marines, all of a chapter separate of the two already at the bunker. Darnath was a bit confused, but held his piercing gaze with the Raven Guard.

'Chaplain Darnath, the Raven Guard have need of your assistance,' spoke Zakeiv. Darnath motioned for the marine to return to the bunker.

'Chaplain, I am here on the behalf of the Emperor's Scythes chapter. They would request to commandeer your outpost here on Covalito II and use it as a staging area against the tyranid incursion into this sector. They have agreed to have terms for their intrusion,' spoke the marine solemnly. Darnath looked down the steps, seeing that the others were well on their way up here already. Darnath nodded.

'I have no means by which to rid this place of them, and I have no quarrel with their number either. They are welcome here.' The chaplain motioned for the Raven Guard to leave, and the Space Marine did so without another word. Chaplain Darnath awaited the arrival of the Emperor's Scythes, hoping that they weren't a rowdy bunch like the Space Wolves or the Blood Angels. The Mortificators were a chapter that did not frequently partake in the excitement of battle lust. No, they were a chapter of stubborn, determined warriors of great reverence. His fellow Astartes made their way up to him and their leader, who looked to be a captain, nodded respectfully.

Darnath could see tha the years had taken their toll on the man, his hair graying and only present in a thin halo around his scalp. He had a clipped goatee on his chin and a great scar running along the top of his head and reaching down to his right brow. His eyes were two chips of emerald, not youthful or happy like one would expect from such a vibrant color. They were cold, calculating, serious. This was a man who had seen many centuries of life in but a hundred or so years, or so Darnath guessed from the single stud on his brow.

'We are half of the third company of the Emperor's Scythes. We request that we be able to stay at this outpost to see out the tyranid incursion into this sector. We will accept terms for our stay. Name any if you have them,' said the captain. Darnath shrugged.

'You are Space Marines, much the same as we are. You are welcome into our abode for as long as you so wish. I am Chaplain Darnath, welcome.'

'I am Captain Gando. Our thanks, from the heart,' said the captain. Darnath turned his skulled head to the detachment of dour warriors at his command. All thirty six of them looked up and stopped chiseling away at the bones of their fallen comrades. Darnath grunted.

'Comrades, these are the Emperor's Scythes. I will have no word of _their_ bones being carved into after you've picked them clean. Is that clear to everyone?' The marines looked at each other and chuckled. Darnath let a tiny grin stretch across his pale features. Their tradition of cannibalism had gotten them some very nasty reputations. It was almost another tradition to joke about that tradition around them. It was one of the few things that was not Spartan about their chapter. They enjoyed being one of the oddities in the Imperium. They were remembered by others, and death could not take that memory away from those who hadn't been killed.

'I trust that you have not yet defiled my bones, brother?' came a metallic voice that boomed over the dull noise of the others moving about and carving up the bones in their hands. Darnath flipped his battle staff up with his foot and let it rest over his shoulder. He turned to find his ancient brother, Harakk, one of the Venerable Dreadnaughts of their chapter. His right arm was now an autocannon and a melta gun had been added to it, ready to spray anything nearby with purifying flame and fury. The giant war machine's left arm was a gigantic power talon, electricity of blue and green playing across the surfaces of each individual blade. From the plaque inscribed with his name, rank, and company position, stared two glowing red eyes. These were the true eyes of Harakk, though he did not see with them at all.

Still, the Dreadnaught super-heavy armor's pilot was no longer a full marine. He was something between Space Marine and machine, the union between the Emperor's finest and the Adeptus Mechanicus machines. His eyes were piercing, his stare like that of a giant ten times Darnath's height. The chaplain felt almost sorry for the man encased within his own walking tomb. He had been alive for many thousands of years, sleeping for most of that time. And when he was woken up, it was to fight in a dour, cold, unforgiving world that wanted nothing more than to destroy him. But that was the grim reality of it all, and every Morticificator faced that fact. Darnath nodded, holding up the odd necklace of toe bones and one finger bone from the Dreadnaught's original body. Each of them was inscribed with a curse to their foes and a blessing to their brethren, or something of the like.

'I have yet to defile any of these. I am still trying to find the right word to misspell,' replied the chaplain. The Dreadnaught turned to watch the Emperor's Scythes march into the bunker for a moment before speaking again.

'It has been a great many years since we have seen them here, brother. I fear that things may get much worse in this sector. Are we prepared to have reinforcement called upon?'

'Yes, we are brother-Dreadnaught. But with the bones of our fallen brothers still here, we fight with the strength of all those who have passed on. Come now, Harakk, I fear that some of your parts need repairing,' the chaplain said. The Dreadnaught remained still for a moment, as if pondering whether or not the statement was a joke. Harakk laughed, and it was a deep, mechanical noise generated from an artificial voice box.

'Indeed, I believe my arm is preparing to sprout legs and leave me very soon,' said Harokk sarcastically. Darnath nodded and the Dreadnaught looked out to the landscape. The chaplain too looked out upon the world's rough exterior. This place wasn't exactly a death world, like the Imperium liked to believe. It was _almost_ a death world. The planet had maybe ten million citizens to its name, and native inhabitants called the Ghoro.

The Ghoro were small tribes of insectoid beings, no larger than a young man, but still bothersome. They hunted from the sky, sweeping up any unwary or lost soul in the barren wastes of Covalito II. The planet's vast wastes of rock and light brown, infertile soil made living here a challenge. Still, cities had sprung up over the coastal areas on a portion of the supercontinent, and even further north was a second outpost, this one with a small spaceport. Darnath remembered a time when the Ghoro had attacked the space port with two tribes, and failed miserably. Darnath had personally led the defense, and it was to his grim satisfaction that not a single marine had been lost to the bug-warriors.

Looking up at the pale yellow sun looming in the sky, Darnath wondered how long he and his men had before the first attacks came. There were orks reemerging on Coval I, three planets actually had been attacked by new orks, from outside of the system. Other chapters were coming to assist, and the Ecclesiarchy too. Darnath already surmised that the tyranids would strike soon, and he suspected that there were others too. This war would need to be won. Hell, there was always another war to win. He sighed and turned back toward the bunker, Harokk giving him what he could make close to a nod before the chaplain left. Darnath hoped for some action soon. Scrimshawing bones could only last so long, and litanies one had already memorized were hard to recite with sincerity as of late.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry that this chapter had no conflict watsoever. I'll try to have some in my next update._


	13. Chapter 13

Tanks rolled forward unto the battlefield, blasting apart the swarm of cultists heading towards their positions. Kharn watched as a spray of blood and innards flew into the air and rained down upon those who hadn't been annihilated. Kharn's chainaxe, Gorechild, revved in his hand impatiently. Kharn turned to see two hundred of his own World Eater berserkers and several hundred others, a mix of the Khornate factions the Fallen had amanged to gather together for this seemingly-random attack on the Guratin system.

Kharn looked back at the Leman Russ tanks and snarled with fury and rage. He raised his chainaxe and bellowed a blessing to his god. He charged up the hill towards the heavy tanks. Following in his footsteps were the hundreds of other berserkers, all with similar axes and fury. Soon, the ground shook as the berserkers made their furious charge up the hill. Ahead of them was a thin line of PDF troopers of Covalito I, men of less than stalwart strength. Only a commissar among them and three kasrkins that probably weren't even supposed to be there made any sort of organized effort against the Chaos Marines. Kharn took point in the massed charge and headed straight for the kasrkins, hoping to spill enough blood to please Khorne.

Las rounds pinged off his red and brass armor as he his heavy boots thundered upon the ground. He was in the thicket now, right in the heart of the battle. He closed with the initial line of guardsmen with appalling speed and ferocity, making the last few feet with a leap of terrifying fury. He swung Gorechild and cleaved away flesh and bone, hearing the whirring teeth spill blood and guts across the tan soil. His boots touched the ground again in the trench crudely dug by these worthless cowards, and he fired his augmented bolt pistol into the chest of another guardsman, dropping him with a spray of crimson and pink organs.

A hellgun blasted his paudron from nearby and he lurched to the right, trying to dodge the kasrkin's deadly spray of gunfire. He swung his handgun around and fired blindly into a mass of guardsmen all turning to fire upon him. He knew that there was no way they were coordinating their efforts alone. There would have to have been at least one kasrkin there to have them direct their fire upon him. Before Kharn had time to think, he saw a pair of World Eaters fall upon the group of massed guardsmen in a berserk rage, howling with bloodlust. He recognized them: Bjorn the Fellhanded and Varidun. Bjorn's lightning talon ripped through entire bodies like they were jelly, and Varidun's chainaxe ripped men's limbs apart as if they had been sewn together with thread. Kharn raised Gorechild and roared.

'Blood for the Blood God! Break their backs!' And immediately after he had said the words, Varidun grabbed one of the kasrkins and broke the man's back over his knee. Vertebrae riveted the man's skin, barely contained within his broken body. Kharn laughter resounded throughout the battlefield as berserkers rushed on past him, intending to be the first to the top of the hill. Kharn quickly led them again, racing up faster than any of them could hope to. His fury and hatred carried him forward.

But even his charge could not keep up with the raptors of the Word Bearers. He watched as they were jettisoned into the sky and roared with daemonic laughter, brandishing cruel chainswords and plasma pistols. The sun gleamed off their red armor, and silver trims gave it an eerie look in the smog and polluted air of the battlefield. He heard one of them roar above the din of battle.

'We soar on wings of fire!'

'Forward Chosen of Khorne!' Kharn bellowed as he renewed his charge in an effort to get to their quarry faster. 'Blood for the Blood God! Hurry or you'll have nothing to give Khorne!' And with that, the berserkers, with redoubled fury and vigor, continued their charge. Kharn reached the crest of the hill with Goral of the Apostles of Minthras. The man, shot-horned helmet upon his head, had a horrid red glow in his eyes. He laughed maniacally and Kharn nodded. The berserker was in his prime at the moment.

Looking down upon where they were about to jump into, Kharn's eyes widened visibly. There had to have been at least a thousand guardsmen and thirty Leman Russ tanks. Cultists fled in every direction from the Imperial line, trying to escape the thunderous roar of guns. Kharn's entire body shook with rage and excitement. Khoria stood next to him now, her own battle lust controlling every move she made. Both of her bolt pistols rang out as they spat death into the enemy. Kharn estimated about a thousand strides to their enemy, and he saw no more lines of defense behind them.

'Blood for the Blood God!' roared Goral. The raptors ahead soared across the sky as orange streaks as their weapons sprayed death and destruction upon the mass of guardsmen. Kharn clipped his bolt pistol to his belt and grinned. He took Gorechild in both hands and let out the most ferocious war cry he could before leaping down the hill toward the enemy. The other berserkers were well on their way behind him.

Kharn closed the distance faster than he had expected, and was quickly able to see the features of the first man Gorechild was going to bite into. He wasn't a soldier at all, not by any stretch of the imagination. Kharn let out a furious howl in victory and cleaved the man in twain. He leapt into the renewed fray, kicking and swinging with all his might. Cables of muscle and sinew sprang up on his arms. His world turned red and he snarled a bitter curse to his enemies. He was in the berserker rage now.

Kharn gripped his chainaxe so tightly that his armor's servo-motors shrieked in protest. He swung left and right, cleaving entire men into pieces. Many were bludgeoned to death if they were not killed by Gorechild's jagged teeth. Kharn let his grip fall to the end of his weapon's haft and spun around in a circle. Limbs flew in every direction and Kharn's body was sprayed with blood and innards all over. He saw the upper halves of men fall to the ground and he crunched them underfoot as he made his way forward. He was heading for one of the Leman Russ tanks, and he had no idea how he was going to destroy it. Still, he didn't even think about it as his red vision continued to feed on the blood he was spilling everywhere.

Kharn was like a whirlwind of death and destruction. Gorechild screamed as bone and flesh were torn apart and smashed to pieces. Everything within Kharn's range was slaughtered and cut to ribbons. The guardsmen struggled to stay away from him, only to be killed by the raptors above them. Kharn barely recognized the fact that there were others of his faith with him by the time had had reached the Leman Russ. Kharn stomped on the ground and came to a full halt, and found himself staring down the barrel of a tank. Without thinking, he swung his axe from the ground up and hit the tank's barrel, forcing it up to shoot uselessly into the sky.

The berserker leapt upon the tank, howling with madness and lust for more blood than could ever be drawn. He wanted to see an ocean of it around his feet before his hunger for it could be slaked! Kharn found the front viewport and saw the terrified guardsmen behind the crystalline glass. He snarled with disgust and rammed Gorechild into the unarmored space, crushing the man's head inside the vehicle. Kharn withdrew his weapon and pulled himself atop the tank, finding a commissar with a cutlass-like blade in his hands. The man looked like he was watching a true daemon in action. Kharn swung one one-handed and tore the man's head into mush, spreading it all across the vehicle he had commanded just moments ago.

The berserker forced his way into the tank and found four terrified occupants still alive. Kharn lashed out in every direction, catching two with Gorechild, one with his foot, and another with his fist. He bellowed a curse to these weak fools. Were there none among them who could meet the challenge of battle?! Kharn pulled himself out of the tank and beside him was another one…its main gun and side turret aimed directly at him. Kharn, in a mad dash for safety, ran toward the very thing that was about to blow him to pieces. He could see the commissar's horrified look and the man quickly ducked into his vehicle, closing the hatch to protect his worthless life.

Kharn was so furious with this cowardice that his shrieked with frustration. His boots touched down atop the tank's top turret and he forced Gorechild into the barrel, making sure his weapon would not move. Kharn grabbed the turret and pulled up with all his might. Khorne's blessing flowed through Kharn as he pulled the turret with all the power he could. His armor whined and cried out in protest, but the berserker was too far gone to care. The vengeful look in his eyes was like that of a Bloodthirster, and nothing was going to stop him now. The metal beneath his feet started to warp and bend. The turret's riveted and welded hide began to come loose. But it was not enough.

Suddenly, Kharn was joined by two other pairs of hands. He snarled at their owners, and then vaguely realized that they were his own warriors. They belonged to Luruk the Ripper and Varidun. Kharn's entire body shook with tremendous force and his Chosen Bloodletters used all their might to pull the turret away from the main body of the tank. With a final, baleful cry, the turret came free and the three berserkers tossed it away. The ground shook as it struck the earth. Kharn picked Gorechild back up and dropped down into the tank, swinging in a full circle. He cleaved apart everything in the tanks' armored shell, and then climbed back out, his bloodlust beginning to subside slowly.

He turned his head and saw a ground of Word Bearers and their champion gathering around one of their fallen brethren. Kharn watched with keen interest as the champion strode over to the corpse and proceeded to pull out a ceremonial knife, cutting off all the fingers of the dead body. All were silent as the champion handed a finger to each of the warriors gather around and the then turned back to the corpse. The champion removed the corpse's breastplate and revealed battle-scarred flesh. He dug the knife down from the top of the rib cage to the stomach, cutting through what didn't have bone protecting it. Pulling open the partially-flayed body, he maneuvered his hand up into its chest cavity.

The champion made a few movements that had obviously been practiced a thousand times over and cut out the corpse's primary heart. The organ was still, not even a murmur of its former beating. The champion raised the heart to his open mouth and bit off a large portion of the heart, passing it to one of his warriors. The Word Bearers repeated the process until the last of them had completely devoured the heart. The champion raised the great tome bound in human skin, wrapped in chains, and written in blood.

'So that our fallen brethren may yet fight on with us and find the great victory as we do!' he said with all the fervor of a man possessed. The other said their solemn prayers and their dirges for the "right of passage" their leader had just preformed. Kharn was intrigued with the bizarre and bloody ritual. He called out to the champion.

'Word Bearer, what is your name?'

'I am Ghardek of the Word Bearers of Lorgar!' the champion shouted back as he returned to his duty to his men. He raced toward the remnants of the battle ahead. Kharn was impressed with his fervor for battle and his chapter's right of passage. Maybe Khanr would have such a ritual turned into commonplace for the World Eaters?

'Where are our foes?' Kharn asked, panting now as all his greater bloodlust left him. Luruk raised his chainaxe and pointed to the small force of guardsmen being slaughtered by the Iron Warriors. The berserker shrugged.

'Not much left of them. This planet is ours if this is the best they can muster against us,' he commended, hopping off the tank to go find something else to kill. Kharn fought down the urge to go after some of the other Chaos Marines and kill them too. He decided against it, seeing as it would be suicide to attack his "allies" and risk having all of them turn on him. Khorne may not care whose blood was drawn, but Kharn did. He didn't want to see his own spilling out of his body with innards and gore. He shuddered. Something told him that he was going to come very close to seeing just that very soon. Kharn shook the thoughts from his head and sat down. He needed something else to kill.

* * *

The champions had been called together again near a mysterious set of ruins that the initial drop zone had been located near. Kharn had been suspicious of the Thousand Sons and the Fallen from the beginning. The sudden gathering at these "unimportant landmarks" proved that his suspicions were correct and that he needed to stop whatever plot that these sorcerer-loving bastards were conjuring. Kharn stood by his fellow berserkers and the Word Bearer champion, watching the Fallen converse with the Thousand Sons. It was of no surprise to Kharn that there were more champions from the thousand sons collectively than there were of any other chapter. Things did not look good.

'Now, fellow Champions of Chaos, I can properly announce the reason for bringing you all here this night,' the Fallen said as he broke off his conversation with the sorcerers. Kharn snorted in disgust.

'Here to tell us that we're to be sacrificed to their god?' He motioned to the Thousand Sons, who all glared at him. Their leader sorcerer lord made a gesture that any man but Kharn would've found threatening.

'No, I have gathered you great champions here to divide up our conquest of this system.' Kharn knew exactly what was coming next as the Thousand Sons stepped forward to speak. Before any words could be spoken, Kharn threw Gorechild into the earth and stepped forward, hand on his bolt pistol. He shouted before anyone else could even move a single muscle.

'I claim this entire planet in the name of Khorne! Any here who wish to challenge me, stand forth and fight me!' After his challenge had been stated, one of the sorcerers stepped forward and Kharn drew his pistol. He blasted the sorcerer's head into pieces and red mist rose from his neck, a contrail of crimson staining the air. There was a horrible screeching curse that resounded through the night air, and all knew that Kharn had been cursed to a horrible fate. The berserker could care less about a sorcerer's words, for all were fickle and mattered not.

'Now Kharn, let's be reasonable here,' said the Fallen, edging toward the berserker. Kharn swung his weapon to bear upon the former Dark Angel. 'Don't be hasty here, berserker. Kill me, and everyone here will have at you,' he threatened. Kharn smirked.

'I have enough allies here to ensure my safety. Covalito I is mine. I will not forfeit this planet to any other god,' he growled.

'Why should the champions of Khorne receive a planet we _all_ fought to take? It is still not wholly under the sway of Chaos,' the sorcerer lord shouted. Kharn picked Gorechild back up and snarled for the sorcerer to shut his mouth. Luruk, Bjorn, and Varidun all trained their weapon on the Thousand Son. Khoria had four bolt pistols on four different sorcerers, ready to kill them at a moment's notice. If there was going to be a fight, then Kharn was going to have his warriors ready at his side.

'I saw no Thousand Son in the battle! I saw only the Word bearers leaping ahead of the fray to slaughter any who would oppose us! I saw the Iron Warriors at the forefront of the battle! I can share this conquest with them. I _will not_ allow the Thousand Sons to take a part of what is rightfully ours!' he snarled with rage and fury. The Word Bearer champion, Ghardek, stepped forward.

'By Lorgar, the World Eater is right!' he shouted. The Iron Warriors champion stood silently, only nodding his approval. The Fallen looked at his comrade sorcerers and then glared back at Kharn. The berserker was not about to give his ground. He and his men had fought for this place, and the same could be said for the others. Whatever these Thousand Sons wanted here, Kharn was going to deny it to them so long as they saw everyone else as pawns. The Nurglish champions were completely silent, their forces having secured a few cities here and there, spreading disease to ensure the victory of Chaos. Yorrik spat out a huge ball of gelatinous muck and then spoke.

'Kharn, you wouldn't happen to have a few areas for the servants of Papa Nurgle, would you? I'm sure that even a small amount of territory would be suitable for our purposes,' he said, the other champions of the Plague Lord nodding. Kharn put away his pistol as the Thousand Sons and the Fallen left the gathering.

'Take what you want. I desire only these ruins in the name of Khorne and any others you may find. I will not have the Thousand Sons and that bastard traitor do as they wish if they do not fight as we do.'

'And what of the Word Bearers?' Ghardek asked. Kharn shrugged.

'Desecrate what you will. Any ruins you find are Khorne's claim. All the rest is open to be sacked and pillaged as all present chapters see fit.'


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Kharn, having the utmost contempt for the Sisters of Battle, refers to them as "whores of the Emperor" or simply "whores" in general. If this offends anyone, I do formally apologize and hope that you can forgive the offence.

* * *

_

Kharn couldn't believe he was doing this. The mission he was undertaking was completely suicide, something that he never would have dreamed of in a million lifetimes. He, along with Khoria and six of his finest Chosen Bloodletters, were going to sneak into the gigantic city-monastery of the Sisters of Battle on the planet Coval II. The vehicle, if it could be called that, was something of a rarity, even to Chaos. It was a city on caterpillar treads and lined with turrets and missile ports and massive cannons all over.

The thing was nearly five kilometers long and one across the middle. The front of the city-vehicle was like the prow of a ship, with several dozen viewports and large observation windows. The thing was encased within a shell of ceramite and lined with balconies of guns and infantry with heavy weapons. Attacking this was like trying to attack a huge space ship. Even though a cruiser from the Thousand Sons had shelled the thing twice already, its hull barely looked damaged and was only weakened in others. Luckily, one of the main cannons had been destroyed by their mages' powers. Since the forfeit of Covalito II, the Thousand Sons had made sure to do their part. Kharn was still wary of them, but not as angry. They were losing troops like everyone else now.

Kharn waited impatiently as the Steel Brethren's flagship, the _Spirit of Daemons_, sped into position. Already, its thunderhawks were ferrying troops and Defilers and others to the surface of the planet, accounting for more than half of the transportation forces. Their extensive use of drop pods and thunderhawks made them something of a commodity here. They were rather useful in tight situations like these. Without them, this attack may not have fielded enough troops to fight that moving city. Kharn was almost envious of the Iron Warriors and the Night Lords and the other factions of Chaos holding the line against the main force of PDF troopers, Ecclesiarchial fanatics, and rallied Space Marine troops.

The berserker snarled impatiently as the pod of World Eaters was fired from the launching bay of the _Spirit of Daemons_. The vox net screeched to life as Kharn was about to find some time to think before hitting the atmosphere and later, the fortress-monastery's surface if their coordinates were right. Kharn growled annoyedly and then patched himself in to listen to whoever was trying to catch his attention.

'What is it?' he barked angrily.

'Kharn? This is Ghardek of the Word Bearers. What is our plan of attack once we reach the target? I haven't the slightest clue as to the location of the engine and ammunition rooms. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me, seeing as the Night Lords have no idea what they are going to do besides rape and pillage. I also doubt that Slaanesh is going to allow…_his_…forces to join the fray.' The Word Bearer almost sounded worried.

'I don't know where the engine room is. I don't know the layout of the tank. My plans were to kill all the pilots and let someone else do the demolition work. Blood is all Khorne desires, not tricky plans and plotting and magic.'

'What are we going to do then? Nobody knows where to go, and the Steel Brethren are going to drop off troops on this huge vehicle once the main anti-aircraft cannons have been silenced. Lorgar's warriors are not renowned for wandering around aimlessly, well…not since the unraveling of the Nexus Arrangement, but that is a story long past its prime. Fine then, what are our orders, from your perspective Kharn?'

'Attack is the only command worth remembering,' snarled the berserker in return, silencing his vox net as the atmospheric pressure forced him against his seat, the harness restraining him stretched to its limits. Around him were Luruk the Ripper, Varidun, Bjorn the Fellhanded, Khoria, Duriel, Vhior, and Gharkan the Bloody-fisted. They were all nearly as impatient as Kharn was about this battle. This could very well be the fight to spell each and every doom of these few sent to do a monumental, suicidal job.

* * *

Alexa Corialis stood in the command deck of the _Pride in Faith_ super-fortress of the Ecclesiarchy. This vehicle was one of several dozen employed by the Emperor's servants, and it was by far the largest land-based vehicle ever made. Even compared to the others of its kind, it was several hundred meters bigger in all aspects, and had more guns as well. She could have docked her ship within its bulk had it been hollow. With a sigh, she looke dup at the graying clouds and a scowl appeared upon her face. Sister Oria laid a bionic hand upon the woman's shoulder and looked up at the sky as well, the gears in her left shoulder whining almost silently. With Alexa, were Sisters Elia and Rebecca as well, all of them holding a grudge against Kharn the Betrayer. They knew he was here.

'Sister, where do you think he will appear, so that we may find him?' asked Elia, hand tightly gripping her holy power sword.

'Fear not sister,' the Canoness replied. Alexa smirked as she looked down at the weapon that had earned her the new title of Canoness. _Fiery Heart_ seemed to pulse with anger and holy righteousness at the mere mention of the traitor-marine's name. Good enough that her very soul burned with hatred for the man, better still was that her holy artifact was in the same state of mind as well. Alexa smiled grimly as small streaks of red and orange broke through the clouds, miles over the surface of the _Pride in Faith_.

'He is here Canoness. Let us meet him where he seeks to strike,' said Rebecca, lifting her multi-melta cannon up to aim at one of the pods. Canoness Alexa stayed the hand of her sister, a soft smile on her face.

'My time with the confessors and our holy brethren of Terra has not been wasted. Patience sister, patience to all who may desire the death of our same, hated foe. The traitor shall be captured and made to repent for all his crimes and heretical acts. He will not escape, not so long as I draw breath enough to cry litanies of faith and light. Kharn the Betrayer shall be made to repent sisters, of that I assure you,' Alexa said. She turned around and hurried off with her retinue of three sisters and a servitor who was checking up on various readouts and battle reports from outside the city-monastery. Alexa could nearly smell the traitor's flesh burning at the touch of holy fire and promethium.

She passed through the open archway that spanned twenty paces across and fifty high. Both of the arched doors bore several murals and carved statues of angels and saints fighting evil monsters and xenos and liberating masses of innocents from such things. Alexa thought that she could find a mural of herself slaying Kharn the Betrayer some day. She gripped _Fiery Heart_ with both hands and a grim smile played across her smooth, pale features. Yes, she was sure of it: Kharn would be in one of those murals some day, and he would be the witch burned at the stake for his crimes.

Above her, warning klaxons flashed and sirens rang out. A serious of dull thuds caused the floor to vibrate and Alexa looked straight up, her golden eyes narrowing sharply. Her sisters all readied their weapons, vengeance in their eyes. The four Sisters of Battle hurried down the hall, all of them ready to kill, maim, and burn the traitor for his heresy.

* * *

Kharn's pod slammed down into the roof of the massive vehicle and the four pod ramps unlocked. Kharn ripped his harness off and kicked down the nearest ramp, sending it to the floor in merely a second. He rushed out of the pod ahead of his Chosen Bloodletters, roaring a battle cry as he found a group of armed servitors rushing at him. Before he could fire though, another pod similar to his slammed down into the metallic ground. Ceramite and steel shrieked in protest and the pod came to an abrupt stop, the servitors crushed under its steely-grey hull. The pod ramps unlocked and began to lower themselves to the ground.

Kharn paid little heed to who was yelling orders and litanies to Lorgar from inside of it, wanting only to fire back at who or whatever had opened up its guns at him. He swung his combi-bolter in the direction of his assailants and fired. His weapon spat death at the lowly whores of the Emperor and they quickly fell in shattered piles of bloody armor and meat. Kharn revved Gorechild in his hand and rushed forward against the next dispatched squad of whores the Imperium had managed to throw at him. He closed the gap as they screamed.

'For the Emperor!'

'For the Blood God!' Kharn mocked in return, leaping the res of the gap towards the helmed whore in front of him. She raised her melta pistol at his face and the berserker barely noticed that he swatted her hand _off_ with the barrel of his combi-bolter. He buried his knee in her abdomen and the leering daemon face etched upon his armor tore the softer sections of her armor. Bones snapped and organs ruptured. Kharn pressed forward and his momentum drove both of them to the ground. Blood ran like a river from the helm's base, pouring onto the ground. Kharn renewed his assault on the rest of the whores, swinging Gorechild wildly in great, cleaving arcs. Limbs fell to the ground and Kharn swung over and over again.

Bolter rounds pinged off his ancient armor, melta sprays skimming over the bare flesh of his arms. He had prepared formally for this fight, and would not be hindered at all by cumbersome armor when he went to kill thing sin Khorne's name. His arms were bare, save for the great paudron upon his right shoulder. His left hand and forearm had chains wrapped around them, connected to Gorechild's hilt. He wore a series of chains from his daemon-faced belt, three of them ending in barbed hooks. Two of them ended in human skulls, one of a Slaaneshi champion that Kharn had particularly disliked, the other of the Canoness he had killed a few months ago. It bore the sign of the Ecchesiarchy, that damned flower burned into the forehead.

He briefly thought it ironic that the skull should bear the mark, letting all of the whores know that he had killed one of their favored in battle. Kharn smirked and let out a bestial laugh, throwing his head back and shouting through vox amplifiers to let the entire cre of this city-monastery know that he was here and enjoying their blood. A bolter round pinged off one of the horn-like protrusions form his helmet and his mind snapped back into the fray. He splattered the offender's guts all over the nearest wall and Kharn returned to the fray.

Right now, he had to find a way into the huge machine, and that was going to be rather difficult. He had no schematics of this thing, and he had no way of procuring such things of his own accord. It wasn't like he had an adeptus…mechanicus…

'Khoria!' he bellowed, searching for Khorne's adeptus mechanicus follower with keen eyes. He soon found her, smiting hapless fanatics armed with knives and blades as if they were flies. Kharn tore their insides from their bodies in a torrent of bolter shells and death. Khornia's head whipped around and she nodded to him, making her way through the bodies lying upon the ground. She almost slipped in the slick blood twice.

'Yes Warmaster?' she asked, ready to take any command he might give.

'Find a way into this thing and then find schematics to the anti-air cannons!' he said. Khoria nodded and then looked around curiously for a moment before running off down the spine of the machine, a bolt pistol on all six hands, both bionic and of flesh. Kharn turned away and found that his real berserkers were enjoying themselves immensely, cleaving apart fanatics and whores alike. Kharn felt something akin to pride and anger fill his chest and he ran on, trying to find a door or something to get into the ship through. He ducked down behind a metal box of sorts as bolter shells tore up the ground at his heels. This was no normal bolter. Something more than one of these whores was here.

'For the Emperor! Forward brothers!' yelled a space marine. Kharn's smirk turned into a grimace. He was fighting space marines again…loyalist dogs and servants to their false-god. Kharn immediately launched himself over the box and fired his cobmi-bolter into the face of the closest marine. The loyalist immediately backpedaled and lunged behind cover. The space marine was covered in black armor with bone-white and yellow trim. A dirty skull emblem was painted upon his left paudron, and beneath it was the chapter name: _Mortificators_. Kharn snarled with disgust and annoyance. The Mortificators were known for their extreme stubbornness and ferocity.

This fact was made concrete when he saw an apothecary with a saw made of bone. Kharn took cover again and fired blindly with his weapon, earning him a death cry from one of the marines. He revved Gorechild again and darted out from behind the box. He found that the death cry hadn't exactly been what he had thought it was. The marine was still alive,a dn had his bolt pistol aimed for Kharn's head. The berserker finished him off with a foot to the skull, mashing brains into pink pudding on the ground. Kharn rushed the other three marines as quickly as he possibly could, trying to take the apothecary before the others.

He swung Gorechild against the marine's bone saw and surprisingly, the weapon held for a moment. The apothecary leapt back and drew a power sword, its surface flashing to life with electricity. Kharn raised his combi-bolter and the gene-seed collector ducked to the right, swinging his blade. Kharn blasted the marine's left arm full of holes, but still the man was ready to fight for his chapter. Kharn growled hatefully as the other two marines opened up and caught him in the chest. Kharn ignored the apothecary for now and lunged forward, swinging Gorechild into the face of one marine. Mica-dragon teeth tore out skull bits and brains, showering the apothecary behind Kharn with a spray of organic slush. The fresh corpse toppled over and Kharn shouldered its comrade to the wall nearby. He inverted his grip on his chainaxe and pushed the hilt into his foe's chest, through the single plate of bone that had once been ribs.

The marine's sacred gene-seed felt Gorechild's cool kiss of death and the marine roared in protest, grabbing Kharn around his bare neck with armored hands. Kharn heard the scraping of a power sword against metal and knew that the apothecary was up on his feet again.

'Die traitor scum!' the marine trying to choke Kharn roared, hate in his eyes. Kharn shouted something that not even he could understand.

'Warmaster!' yelled a voice nearby. Kharn felt the rush of air behind him and the berserker leveled his combi-bolter against the space marine's head. The marine stared at him defiantly, his eyes full of hate and fury. Kharn heard a blade drop to the ground and knew the apothecary was dead, although that had been very close. Kharn hadn't even registered that moments ago he could have been killed. He glared back at the marine, the Mortificator's hands still around his neck. Kharn wanted to laugh.

'You desire to kill me?' Kharn mocked. The marine snarled back at him.

'If I had but another life, I would return to kill you again, traitor!' The marine's brains were splattered over thirty feet of ground as Kharn killed him. The berserker turned to whoever had killed the apothecary, and was thoroughly surprised to find that it was one of the World Eaters' few remaining terminators: Aralith.

'Warmaster, there is battle to be had! Tarry not with these loyalist dogs; there are others more worthy of Gorechild's bite!' the terminator said, swinging his autocannon around to bear on some invisible target. The marine's terminator armor was massive, even my space marine standards. It was Mark II armor, and as such, was immensely sought after as an ancient prize and trophy by any collector of Chaos artifacts. Aralith wore it proudly, two long steel spikes protruding from the back of his armor, a whore's naked corpse impaled on each through the genitalia and mouth. Aralith was like a walking bastion of blasphemy when it came down to the numerous ornaments or Khorne and the Chaos Gods and other sacrilegious things.

His helm was something of an oddity though. Even though the man was not warped by the powers of Tzeench, his helm had not fared as well. From the end of the helm protruded two great tusks of white bone-like substance. The front visor was no longer protecting his eyes, seeing as it had warped to simply an opening that spanned the helm's width, revealing Aralith's angry red eyes beneath. The top of the helm was warped into the vague shape of Khorne's rune, and it bore their god's colors: crimson and brass. Everything else on the terminator was unchanged…as unchanged as Chaos Terminator Armor could be.

'Let us find the others! Kill! Maim ! Burn!' shouted Kharn to his terminator comrade. They ran off toward the sounds of battle and quickly found Ghardek and the other Word Bearers involved in a fierce melee. The champion swung his Crozius Arcanum like it was a child's toy, cleaving and maiming with every stroke. He was pelted with light gun rounds and glared at the small gathering of whores. He threw his head back and let out a horrible roar in anger. From the warp were summoned two bloodletter daemons, each armed with a red blade of daemon-bone. The horned creatures let out their own battle cries and charged forward on goat legs, blades raised high. Ghardek laughed maniacally as the bloodletters tore the whores to pieces and began drinking their blood from severed limbs.

The battle calmed as the last of the Imperial forces arrived from their hiding holes. Kharn surmised that the next wave was going to be here soon enough, and that they needed to find an entrance soon or they would be in trouble. Although he could seen no casualties, he knew that there were some. The Word Bearers were missing six of their number. Ghardek included, there were only fifteen Word Bearers left. And the Night Lords had only eight of their original twenty. Kharn however, had actually gained a warrior. The Chaos strike force had also gained two daemons to fight with them, and they instinctively made their way to the World Eaters.

'Khoria?!' Kharn thundered. A few moments later, the corrupted enginseer-berserker appeared with a lowly, masked servitor behind her. The thing had a burning brazier on its back and a servo-harness with only half a limb left on it. It wore the bottom half of a monk's robe and its feet shuffled silently beneath its half-man half-machine form. Two bionic eyes regarded Kharn emotionlessly.

'I have found our path into the _Spirit of Faith_,' said Khoria. The servitor gestured toward the way the two had come from.

'The maintenance hatch is this way, enginseer. This way please,' the servitor said, not to Kharn, but to Khoria. The Chaos Marines were rather puzzled by a loyalist slave's cooperation with the forces of Chaos. Ghardek finally asked the question that everyone was reluctant to ask.

'How did you manage to make him obey you?'

'This particular servitor had undergone several operations and his brain is now mostly mechanical. He saw me as a friend because of my adeptus mechanicus genetics and sees me as his superior. I assure you that he is quite loyal, and I have even adjusted a few circuits to link his delta patterns and my alpha patters, therefore solidifying the control over him. His gen-mecha dochidrons are fully functional to my will,' she replied.

'What an esoteric response,' Ghardek commented dryly as the strike force followed Khoria and the hapless servitor. 'Did anyone understand her?' he finished. The group was silent as fighter ships and thunderhawks and missiles sailed through the sky. Smoke rose from the battle all around on the actual surface of the world, all manner of war machine and infantry rending everything and anything they could. Kharn could nearly taste the blood in the air. The groups finally arrived at a pedestal standing beside a large doorway set into the floor. Both Khoria and the servitor worked for a few moments on the keypad and a few other buttons that flashed intermittently. A few seconds passed and the pedestal receded into the ground, a solid plate of steel sliding into place over it when it disappeared.

The doors that had previously been locked slid open and revealed a stairwell that delved directly into the bowels of the ship. The servitor bowed to Khoria. He then moved do the stairwell, drawing a large bolt pistol from his leather belt. On his left shoulder sat a small version of a las cannon, set into the servant's flesh and connected through metal bolts and screws. His servo-harness sparked and fans within it whined as the servitor made his way into the gargantuan machine. The brazier on his back illuminated the way down as the Night Lords warped past in wisps of smoke.

There was a faint smell of ozone in the air from the short-ranged movement. Kharn's berserkers were next to go down into the stairwell, and then Ghardek and his men. Kharn, the two Bloodletters, and Aralith were the last ones to enter, the terminator forcing the doors closed behind their descent. Nobody was going to enter behind them, and even if they did, they would have to go through the fury of an angry terminator before getting to anything else. Unfortunately, once the doors had closed, Aralith realized that the stairwell was too narrow for him to turn around, and he was stuck going down the stairs backwards. The strike force made it way down into the bowels of what could be their tomb in the very near future…


	15. Chapter 15

Tolorak of the Thousand Sons sat aboard his flagship and tapped his helm impatiently with one finger. He had yet to hear back from the Fallen and the Slaaneshi champion about their plan. He had no idea what all this commotion about Kharn slaying a few champions was. They could easily be reborn from the Warp as soon as the nearest portal could be found. It wasn't like they were actually dead, not since Ahriman's Cabal had destroyed the physical bodies of all the Thousand Sons. Tolorak shifted uneasily in his stolen Word Bearer armor. He didn't like having to pretend to be one of those undivided idiots. Not that he didn't like them, just their ways of thinking.

The Champion of Tzeench heaved a great sigh and then the comm. array broke from its silence, revealing the face of the Fallen and that of the Slaaneshi champion. Both of them looked impassive and cold. Their eyes watched his every movement. Funny how this was, the Great Schemer's servant being used as a pawn. No matter, if they betrayed him, then he would rally the other Thousand Sons to defeat them. It was no permanent problem. Tolorak sat up in his floating dais and took his hand from his head.

'Good to see that you've not killed _all_ the others yet,' said the sorcerer. Both of the faces on the view-screen frowned.

'I have yet to kill anyone!' whined the Slaaneshi champion, arms folded across his chest. 'The Fallen kill the others while we were…_enjoying_ each others' company. Of course, that's not to say I don't have my own resources…' the sick pervert said as two daemonettes flanked him. The Fallen's sullen face didn't change in the slightest, nor did he so much as glance to the pervert and his daemon-toys.

'Have you prepared the orbital bombardment?' asked the former Dark Angel, his expression turning to a cross one as Tolorak shrugged.

'As best I can. Thanks to Kharn's slaying of three champions of the Thousand Sons, my forces have been bolstered three times their original capacity. I am ready with nine vessels and waiting for your orders to fire. I still don't see how this is going to do anything to kill him. Surely you saw what a week of three times this much firepower failed to do?'

'Be ready to fire. I have no need for your opinion, nor will…our greater ally. Launch your forces in three hours, and make sure they are ready to do battle, would you? The last batch you sent burned up in orbital entry. I'd rather not see charred corpses falling to the planet instead of what I directed you to throw at the Ecclesiarchy. I will be waiting for your compliance. I will speak with you when the next stage is set,' the Fallen said as the comm. array went blank and Tolorak was left to his own accord. With a great sigh, the sorcerer lord stood up waved his staff about in an intricate pattern across the shimmering air before him.

Suddenly, a vision of his true form appeared out of thin air and stood like a statue. Tolorak breathed the breath of life into his Warp-created double and the thing, though not a physical being, came to life. His doppelganger knew its orders, and sat back down upon Tolorak's floating dais, waiting quietly. Good, thought Tolorak. At least I can control _some_ aspects of this horrible excuse for an invasion.

The sorcerer lord hurried down the hallway with two of his bodyguards in step just a few paces behind him. Through the winding hallways and restricted passageways that only he could open. Deep into the very heart of his ship the sorcerer lord traveled, silently waving his staff about, moving sheer blocks of metal and warped stones that made up his inner sanctum and most secretive rooms. His two bodyguards were silent, watching their leader do everything that was needed to access the inner vault, which was now filled with a very odd cargo.

The last of the obstacles was removed and Tolorak revealed his hidden, if not secretive cargo. It was a troop of orks, ravenous and mindless brutes that had nothing better to do than smash their heads together and see whose brains would come out of their skulls first. Fortunately, they were under the influence of sorcerous mind control, and they weren't going to attack him just yet. Well, they would never get the chance to attack him, for they would be on that damned bastion of the false-Emperor killing Kharn and the Sisters of Battle alike! A grin would have crept over his features if he had any to speak of.

'Yes, orks, brutes, grots, squigs, Goffs, whatever you want to be called!' Every ork in the large chamber turned to him, and impassive look in every pair of beady red eyes. They looked aloof, lethargic even. It was a difficult job to keep them under control, but it was worth it. They were going to save him nearly a hundred warriors to kill Kharn and his ilk. It was sad for the Word Bearers and Night Lords to go with him, but it was a necessary sacrifice. Too bad indeed; Ghardek looked to be a very promising champion. He may have been able to summon horrors in time, and maybe other more powerful daemons as well.

'Umies…is gonna die…da staff umie…first…wa…waaa…' murmured one of the larger and thicker-skulled orks. The thing had all manner of mechanical and bionic enhancement on its body, and a gigantic backpack as well. Tolorak was rather surprised with the ork's will to not to be dominated. It was even trying to yell its primitive war cry. Tolorak waved his staff and all the orks turned to him, their moods becoming restless and confused. Tolorak turned around and began walking, the ork mob of nearly two hundred brutes following him reluctantly back through the ship. By the time they arrived at the pod deck, the orks were getting quite restless, and they all murmured something nearly incoherent, and the bigger ones were rather noisy in their furious shaking and snarling.

Tolorak wasn't worried in the slightest. He had a few minutes before the sorcery wore off, and he was already here. Gesturing to the pods, Tolorak ordered the orks to board them. The green-skinned brutes did so without question and the pods closed immediately, trapping the orks within their metal hulls. Tolorak watched as the last of the orks made its way into a pod and ten of the Thousand Sons prepared the pods for launch. All the proper gauges and mechanisms were checked and the marines lined up before their sorcerer lord, each with an ancient and sacred Scarab Blade in hand.

'Lord, all preparations have been made. The pods are ready to be launched,' announced one of the marines. Tolorak patched himself into the comm. net and spoke to the bridge head for a moment.

'Maintain course and fire the pods in fifteen seconds,' he ordered in an almost cheery tone. The bridge head came back in a confused voice.

'But that isn't enough time to pass the Slaaneshi capital ship at our current course. Our current firing orders will put the last two pods into the engines of our ally's ship,' the marine replied. Tolorak cleared his throat.

'I know that. Fire in five seconds since we've wasted enough time,' replied the sorcerer lord. The bridge head didn't reply, and the orders were given to the vessel's pod deck. _Five…four…three…two…one…_

'Pods away, Tzeench help us,' the bridge head murmured as the pods were blown away from their parent vessel. Tolorak watched expectantly as the pods soared through the cold breast of space, their hulls searing bright orange and white from the immense pressure and heat being put upon them. And as expected, all the pods made their ways down to the planet's surface, save for the two on the far right. They had swung too close to the purple vessel's rear and one smashed directly into the starboard engine, causing an explosion of fire and warpfire to spray in every direction. The second pod, however, hit further up the spine of the vessel.

It punctured the hull and bore its way through the outer skin before coming to rest within its new parent vessel. Tolorak found this as an added bonus. The Slaaneshi ship was out of full action for the time being, the Fallen had a message literally thrown at him, and there were thirty or so orks upon a fool's ship. The scheming sorcerer lord couldn't help but think that he had played the Fallen into a trap. He let out a pleased sigh and started back for his personal lounge to retake his seat in the floating dais waiting for him. No Dark Angel was going to have a Thousand Son fall into his little scheme of things, not of Tzeench had anything to say about it.

* * *

Grimfang Bonekrakka scratched the back of his head with the flat side of his trusty choppa. He didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten here with thirty other orks. With a toothy grin, he nodded to Goregrim, his old comrade who'd been through more scraps than he had knocked out teeth of other orks. The two nobs butted heads and roared in their usual greeting manner. The other orks let out their own war cries and the two Nobs looked around. There weren't any other Nobs here, and that meant that they were in charge. Goregrim took the lead.

'Alright, listen up, ya grots and squig-muckers! Dis 'ere is 'ow it's gonna work. Grimfang an' Goregrim are da new leaders! When we find a way outta 'ere, den you follow us, got it?!' he bellowed. The other orks gave their replies, and there were absolutely no objections because no ork wanted to challenge a pair of Nobs, especially not when they were in the dark. And not that it mattered much, but Goregrim had a kustom shoota in his huge fist, and it was intimidating to anyone he pointed it at.

The orks waited for a while, and after what seemed like days, they heard something screaming at them, like an angry wyrdboy or something like that. At first, the orks thought that it was a wyrdboy, and they looked around for one of their spiritual leaders. Upon finding none, the orks were confused. Another scream rang out, and this time, they all realized that it was coming from outside the walls. The orks began hacking at the walls, and after a few seconds, something rocked their room like a bolt of lightning hitting a wartruk. More screaming ensued and then there was a bone-shattering force that brought every ork to his knees.

After a few more seconds of that, there was a noise akin to squigs being slaughtered and gretchins being punted in a game of "kik da gretchin" often played by the Nobs and other larger orks. Grimfang steadied himself and the floor shook one last time before a red light flashed from the ceiling and the walls collapsed outward. Grimfang's keen eyes quickly adjusted to the new lighting and the Nob found that he was no longer in a room in some place that he didn't know. He had been in something, and that something had dropped through a ceiling. Wires and tubes leaking different fluids stuck through the big hole in the ceiling.

Grimfang hopped down from the ramp that had once been a wall and felt something prickling at it skin. He looked down at his left arm and saw that it was on fire. He nonchalantly brushed his hand over the fire until it went out. The Nob looked around for a moment and recognized the imposing figure of a Big Mek with a few other orks and a troop of befuddled gretchins with him. He saw Grimfang and a wide grin spread across his face.

'Beats walkin' eh?' he shouted. Grimfang replied with a good few shots fired from his shoota. Other orks were here as well, those who had come from another pod that was stuck half way through the ceiling. A dozen or so bodies lay strewn about the place, but not too many dead. Several were only knocked out, and were getting their teeth pulled and punched out while they were unable to defend themselves. The orks gravitated toward the Big Mek and they all saw the look in his one good eye.

'I fink we'z got lucky boyz,' said the Bik Mek as he gestured in a wide arc with his huge hands. The orks looked around, and their eyes went wide with wonder at the jackpot they had been thrown to. The room was filled with bikes, big bikes, little bikes, bikes with guns, bikes with rokkit launchers. And not only that, but there were tools lying all over the place, and all sorts of extra bitz scattered about the floor. The Big Mek shouted to his gretchins and they began their excited work of collecting bikes and tools and bitz and whatever else they could find. The Big Mek looked up at the ceiling and raised his fist to it.

'Gork an' Mork is watchin' out fer us boyz! Da Stone Teefs is da biggest, da meanest, and da fastest orks der is!' he roared to no one in particular. All orks present roared with him and stomped their feet and slammed the heads of their choppas on the floor.

'Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks!'

'Seddle up gents! Der'z werk ta be dun! Let's get movin' ya gits!' shouted the Big Mek as he waddle-walked over to one of the nearest bikes and began to make it "orky" enough to be driven. And the first thing he did was splash every inch of it with red paint, because as every good ork knows: Da red wunz go fasta!


	16. Chapter 16

Grimfang revved the engine on his warbike and let out a bestial howl in triumph as the machine roared to life, engine spitting out thick black smoke. The Big Mek was mounting up on his own type of bike, a nasty grin on his face. Goregri was enjoying himself as well, and had already mounted the flayed skull of a umie gurl on the front of his bike. Brains still oozed out the skull's eye sockets. Grimfang revved the engine of his warbike again and checked up on the two forward guns and the improvised mortar fitted onto the back fender. He grinned, seeing the three rows of spikes running down the front of his machine. He didn't know what it was about warbikes, but they made his sense of orky pride skyrocket!

He looked around for a few more moments, seeing the other ten of so Nobs checking up on their bikes. All the other orks were pulling themselves onto the three larger vehicles that resembled wartruks, but more umie-looking. On of them even still had a big flowery symbol on it, though there was a big orky skull sloppily painted over it. The Big Mek shouted orders and the big doors at the other end of the room were set to explode with explosives. The orks sent to set said devices sprinted back as fast as their stubby legs could take them.

The big double doors opened without any explosion of any kind, and Grimfang's brain began to hurt. What had happened? Why wasn't there any big, flashy explosion that he liked to see? A deep-seated frown came across his face and he narrowed his beady red eyes. In the doorway stood what looked like the equivalent of a small ork clan. But these were no orks, these were umies, and they were ready for battle. Grimfang brought his warbike around and hit the gas. His warbike sprang forward and he slammed his booted feet against the heel triggers for the warbike's weapons.

It was like watching someone run through a squig herd with a choppa in both hands. Umies were torn asunder as guns flashed and spat death at them. Grimfang flipped a switch and a flamethrower came to life. Liquid fire sprayed forth from its muzzle and the Nob's bike closed with the umies. The vehicle jerked and thudded against white-armored umie gurls. Bones cracked and snapped beneath his bulky, armored death machine. Bones and softer body parts clung to the spikes lining his warbike.

He took one hand off the handle bars and pulled out his trusty choppa. Raising it high above his head, he let out the one war cry that every orks could respond to no matter what kind of situation it was. As the noise left his mouth, all of the other orks filled with a pride that only orks could feel. It was the orks' call to war, and Grimfang had sounded it in full.

'_**WAAAGH!'**_ was the reply from his comrades as they launched their own machines of war into the fray. Goregrim quickly caught up to his old friend and both Nobs raced down the large hallway, hacking down any fleeing foes before them. Once they had broken the initial line of umie gurls and a few robot-umies, it had been easy driving. The two orks enjoyed a long stretch of uninterrupted racing, their red warbikes spitting noxious black fumes. The two orks now understood what it meant to be "mean and green" as the warboss had said. It meant you were among the biggest and baddest orks around, and you could do whatever you wanted to!

'My bike is fatsa den yurs!' he shouted to Goregrim. His fellow Nob hacked down a fleeing umie and grinned widely.

'I bet I can get tad a end o dis ship first!' he shouted back, warbike pushed to its limits. Grimfang snarled and matched his comrade's speed.

'Yur on!' Both Nobs increased their speed and flew down the hallway, warbikes tearing through anything in their way, choppas slaying all those who would cower and flee instead of fight. Both laughed like orks under the influence of "da Big Green Feelin'" and raced on, making a sharp left. Grimfang almost hit the wall, but he stuck his foot out and kicked himself back into position. Goregrim's guns flashed and more umies dropped dead. Grimfang raced to catch up, and heard the others weren't too far behind. He could hear the distinct voice of the Big Mek drawing closer and closer every second. With a great laugh and his head thrown back, Grimfang pulled the front of his bike into the air and waved his choppa around like a maniac.

* * *

Elsewhere, particularly in space and on a certain Slaaneshi vessel with very little engine power, other orks were gathering to run amok in their new battleground. These orks were led by a very large, very mean Mega Armored Nob by the name of Ghaz Steelteef. Ghaz frowned deeply as he looked at the survivors of the big drop to this place from their metal boxes. The massive ork scratched the side of his thick skull with his mega shoota and flexed his bionic power claw unconsciously. Next to him stood the only Nob they had found, Grum…Grum something anyway. Ghaz had never needed to remember any names beyond "Warboss" and "grots and squigs" in his time in the WAAAGH.

'Eh, boss, where'z we goin' now?' asked one of the smaller, runtier orks. Ghaz looked around for a moment before growling an answer.

'We'z gonna find da Big Mek and find a way outta 'ere! Now get outta me way, we'z movin' now!' shouted Ghaz. He walked through the large isle that had been made for him and beat down the door that had locked before the large mob of orks. Upon bashing the metal barrier out of the way, Ghaz found that this place was not as undefended as he had previously though. In the center of the hallway stood three umie gurls, except these ones didn't look right proper to Ghaz's keen orky logic.

These ones had a purple color to their skin, and two of them had a tentacle of two splitting from their heads like a big crop of hair. One of them had a big crab claw instead of a lower arm, and the other two had bird-like feet from the knee down. All three were totally naked and had scales and slimy skin in different places. Accompanying the gurls was one big umie in black armor with a pink trim. He had a big shoota in his hands with a face on the end of it. Ghaz paid little attention to the gurls, but he didn't know what to do with them when they didn't shoot. Silence accompanied the odd meeting.

One of the three umie gurls walked toward Ghaz slowly, her big rainbow-colored eyes never leaving his beady red ones. Slowly, she made her way over to the massive ork and traced her crab claw up the center of his patchwork breastplate. A smile crept across her features and she curled a finger for Ghaz to lean down. The ork was a bit confused, but did so anyway. The gurl was now within reach of his huge tusks, but she didn't look at all scared or intimidated like the smaller orks here did. Ghaz was mildly impressed, and then his stomach rumbled. The gurl made a noise like a newborn squig's first squeaks and a rusted wheel turning.

'Hungry? Would you like to have me?' she asked in a tone the ork didn't recognize. The gurl lifted her crab claw high above her head, but Ghaz didn't see the action. Instead, he was more interested in what she tasted like. So the ork leaned forward. And he took a bite…

As it stood, "Taking a bite" would have been an understatement for the situation at hand. Ghaz had bitten her entire head off at the neck, and was currently chewing on it. After a few moments, Ghaz noticed that the gurl wasn't moving, and that there was something wet hitting him in the chin. He looked down to see multicolored blood shooting up from the stump of the gurl's neck. He blinked in confusion and then an odd taste filled his mouth. The ork, even with such a powerful stomach, gagged.

Ghaz immediately spat out the crunched jelly-like mixture of brains and bone and blood at the three umies standing not far away. He hocked a glob of the nasty stuff out of his mouth and glared at the umies.

'Dat don't taste like umie! You'z trickin' me! WAAAGH!' Ghaz roared as he leveled his mega shoota with their general direction and unleashed a flurry of big shoota bullets at them. The two gurls dropped immediately in a pile of fleshy jello. The third with the big shoota held his ground for a moment before laughing harshly and falling to the ground with a gurgle. Ghaz spit up more of the vile stuff in his mouth and tried to talk to the Big Mek through the "glowy word box" the ork had put into his custom armor a while back.

'Eh? Ghaz? Why'z you talkin' ta me? I'z busy!' the Big Mek's voice shouted through the small box on Ghaz's shoulder. The Mega Armored Nob blinked in confusion. Where was the Big Mek anyway? Ghaz heard warbikes and guns and screaming and war cries aplenty. Here however, it was almost completely silent, save for the whirring of different machines and little bitz and gizmos all over the place.

'Big Mek, wer is ya? I'z been lookin' fer ya!' shouted Ghaz to the little box. There was a scratching noise before the Big Mek replied.

'I'z just leavin' da bike room. Where are ya, mangy git?'

'I'z in a purple hallway,' replied the huge ork. There was more scratching.

'Purple?! I'z in a white hallway! Where'z a map of yer ship?' The Big Mek's question aroused the curiosity of the normally-stupid brute and Ghaz fell silent for a few minutes as he and his retinue of orks made their way around the intersecting hallways, blowing to pieces anyone they found. After a while, Ghaz found a robot-umie and a map of sorts in its hands. He put the paper up against the wall and examined it for a moment. He was very confused right now, and that wasn't something he liked.

'Big Mek, I don't see no white hallway anywhere on dis 'ere map! You in da back of da ship?'

'Yeah! What da matter be?'

"I'z in da back of da ship! And I'z not seein' no bikers or bike rooms!'

'Well den, look 'arder!' roared back the Big Mek. Ghaz grew angry.

'What's it look like outside?' the Mega Armored Nob asked after a minute of two of thought. There was along pause before a huge explosion and then more firing and bike noises. The Big Mek sounded annoyed when he responded.

'I'z seein' a blue sky and a yella desert. What about yurs?'

'I see black and white dots outta dis 'ere little window…'

'Well, yer on da wrong side of da ship! Get over ta my side ya mangy muck-sucka!' yelled the Big Mek. Ghaz became infuriated and ripped the little box from his shoulder so that he could better yell into it. He wanted the Big Mek to know how angry he was, and to know that he was in big trouble when Ghaz finally found his sorry, fat green hide.

'Listen 'ere ya mangy umie-sucka! I'll show ya who's da _real_ boss 'round 'ere if ya don't shut yer trap and find me! Ya got dat?! I'm gonna tear ya a new talkin' hole if ya don't show me some boss-respect!' And after a few moments, there was nothing in return from the box. Ghaz waited and waited, but there was still not even the slightest noise from it. With a growl, he threw the thing aside and turned to the nearest runt. He blew its green head off and snarled with rage. That Big Mek was as good as dead when Ghaz got his claws on him…

* * *

Kharn the Betrayer was tired of following this servitor through hallway after hallway after damned hallway! Kharn might truly go insane if he stayed here any longer and didn't kill anything! The Night Lords had already broken off from the main group, choosing to head directly to the engines by way of short-ranged teleporting that they used as a terror tactic in battle. Kharn wanted to know how they did it now. The berserker watched furiously as the servitor made its way down the hallway and spoke idle talk to Khoria, who was a step behind his mechanical form. The enginseer seemed to be bored as well, only responding to questions that needed commands.

And as the servitor entered a larger corridor, its head turned left, and then Kharn saw said appendage disappear. Soon afterward, without any warning whatsoever, a red and green blur took the rest of the thing's body and made it disappear as well. Kharn edged past Khoria and blinked in confusion. Now there was loud noise like a defiler's daemon-engine screeching, and there was gunfire accompanying it. He turned the corner and found himself standing face-to-face with a massive ork picking itself up from a nasty and bloody spill from its vehicle.

What it was trying to remount was like a red scrap heap with an engine and spikes all over it. It still bore the symbols of the Ecclesiarchy on either side of its bulk, but the fact was clear that this was not something the Emperor's whores would use. Kharn smiled grimly as the ork quickly got back onto its bike and revved the engine. Twenty or so paces separated the two adversaries, and Kharn wasn't about to lose the charge to some green-skinned ork! Khorne's champion charged forward, combi bolter on his belt and Gorechild clasped tightly in both armored fists. The ork charged back at him with its looted bike.

The two enemies collided with a force that would have stopped the full rush of a mastodon herd in less than a second. Kharn's feet were planted on the fore of the ork's vehicle, bending front armor and tearing away the spikes meant to rip bare flesh apart. Kharn was one of the original traitor space marines, and would have none of that happening to him. The ork raised a crude axe to strike at Kharn, and the berserker, lopped off the green monster's head with one sweep from Gorechild. The bike drifted toward the wall and Kharn quickly kicked the headless corpse from its seat. The berserker swung himself around and planted himself in the seat and examined the crude controls. There was a hand brake, an acceleration handle that twisted to make the machine go faster. There was no measure on fuel or ammunition, but that didn't matter much.

Because up ahead, the rest of the orks were ripping and tearing at the whores' vessel of pious justice. This was not their place, and Kharn was going to make sure that they did not make it out alive. He twisted the acceleration handle as far back as it could go and the warbike bucked beneath him before streaming forward. Kharn realized that this bike's former owner had been one of the stragglers, and that he had a lot of open corridor to cover before reaching the rest of the orks. He zipped past the hallway that he had come out of and something latched onto him. He almost lost control of the bike.

'Warmaster, allow me to accompany you,' said Khoria. Kharn simply nodded. He looked back at the others as they poured out of the hallway, completely bewildered by Kharn's abandonment of them. The Khornate Champion was already almost out of earshot.

'Do we still find the engines and destroy them?!' roared Ghardek. Kharn raised Gorechild above his head and let out a furious howl of bloodlust. Through his vox amplifier, the howl sounded like a greater daemon's call to war. Kharn was filled with the favor of his god as he spoke.

'Attack is the only command worth remembering! I've told you before, Word Bearer! Attack! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!'


	17. Chapter 17

Penitent engines lined up in the center of the main corridor leading towards the heart of the _Pride in Faith._ Commanding them was Canoness Alexa Corialis, and with her stood two hundred sisters. Sisters Oria, Elia, and Rebecca stood at the fore of this gathering sent to defend against the orks that had infiltrated the holy city-fortress. Alexa growled for her sister to be ready as the sound of orks drew nearer and nearer. She was being accompanied by a confessor, and his retinue of Grey Knights. Such loyal servants of the Emperor could not possibly be defeated! Their psychic abilities would tear Kharn the Betrayer into pieces and they would burn his remains to ashes.

Alexa's attention was drawn to the end of the corridor, where nearly three dozen orks, all armed with heavy weapons. A few of them had improvised jetpacks and were flying towards the line of sisters. Alexa turned to the Confessor, who had a bored expression on his broad and tanned face. He raised his holy mace and the Grey Knights went into action with litanies or faith and fury. They moved to the front of the battle line and leveled their storm bolters and plasma canons at the oncoming orks.

'For the Emperor! Xenos filth be purged!' yelled their leader. All at once, they Grey Knights unleashed a hail of bolter shells and fury and fire upon the enemy. The orks, expecting less resistance, were forced to rethink their initial strategy of charging. The remaining orks took cover behind improvised corpse-barriers and whatever they could find. The Sisters of Battle however, had no such luxury. They simply had to stand and fight, which they did with ease. Alexa withheld the penitent engines, knowing that they would be needed later when Kharn arrived.

'Canoness, please allow the Grey Knights to do their work when the traitor arrives. I would not desire you to fall from the Emperor's grace over vengeance. It would be a tragedy for you to become obsessed with killing this traitor,' the Confessor said with all the profoundness of his ancientness. Alexa nodded silently and set the head of Fiery Heart upon the floor. She could wait. After all, it had been nearly half a year since the death of Canoness Dalaria Mensk. Alexa's vengeful wishing had hardened her heart and turned it into something it would have never been long ago. Obsession was not the word for what she had against Kharn. Obsession could not fully encompass the hatred she had for Kharn the Betrayer.

* * *

Far above the canoness sat a Champion of T**z**eench, a sorcerer lord disguised as a Word Bearer to be precise. In one hand was held a glowing staff inlaid with twisting runes and symbols of sorcery. The holy crystal at its tip glowed with a golden hue as its power was used to fuel a spell its owner was weaving at the moment. Tolorak stared at the viewscreen as it flashed to life and the furious image of the Fallen appeared in it. The former Dark Angel's face was no longer as it had been before. Now it was twisted into a look of hatred and rage and malice, something that Tolorak would have expected to see on the face of Kharn the Betrayer…if the berserker would ever take his helmet off.

'You meant to slay me using these orks! I'll have your flagship destroyed, Tolorak! Hear me now, you will die!' shouted the Fallen angrily. Tolorak, on the other hand, was calm and collected his thoughts carefully before speaking. These moments could very well determine what course of action he would have to take against this Fallen if he attacked.

'I did not attempt to slay you with orks. All of my calculations were correct in sending the pods that _you_ had me fill with orks. I know that every one of them was _supposed_ to strike the massive vehicle below us. Your vessel must have changed course. I trust that the orks are dead though.'

'Oh yes, they are dead,' snarled the man as the viewscreen panned down to reveal a gigantic armored ork with multicolored blood all over his chin and a Dark Angel blade rammed through his skull. 'I killed this one after having to remove half of his insides with a daemon bolter! Tolorak, explain yourself! I will kill you, but I would rather know why you tried to usurp me.'

'I had no intentions of killing you, or usurping you at all. It was my mistake that the orks managed to find themselves on your vessel. I apologize for any inconvenience they have caused you,' teased Tolorak. The Fallen's entire face turned red and his furious expression twisted into pure rage and hate. He withdrew his blade from the ork's thick skull and pointed it at the viewscreen.

'You! You will be sent back to the Warp! I will make sure of it!' roared the Fallen.

'You and your half-blade there?' offered Tolorak with a mocking tone to his voice. Some briefly crawled beneath the skin of the Fallen's brow before the traitor-marine spoke.

'Every gun on this vessel!' he roared. Tolorak shrugged and the Fallen began shouting orders to the Slaaneshi cult's ship crew. Coordinates were checked and rechecked quickly. Guns were loaded to full capacity. Power was diverted to plasma guns and cannons lining the ship's hull. The Fallen's furious look turned to one of vengeful malice and he glared through the visual monitor at Tolorak, who was reading from the tome of sorcery he had compiled through his immortal career in the name of Tzeench.

'Good luck, Dark Angel. May your Emperor guide your aim and whatnot. I'll be waiting for you in the Warp.' As Tolorak mocked the traitor, the last calculations were made to fire upon his flagship. Normally, any sane person would be making orders to fire back and evade the oncoming firing salvo. But Tolorak had nothing to fear from this salvo, not personally anyway.

'Fire at the Thousand Sons' flagship!' ordered the Fallen. Tolorak could almost feel the hatred in the man's voice.

'_Please cut off all contact with the Fallen when the salvo hits our vessel,'_ mentally commanded Tolorak to the temporary navigator.

'_Yes Tolorak, as you wish.'_ came the faint voice reply. The Thousand Son made no move to flee to an escape ship or have his own vessel return fire. He did though, order his ship to turn five degrees to starboard and prepare for impact. The massive flagship did as he compelled its navigator to and the sorcerer lord was very pleased. He watched as the deadly salvo of plasma and las beams and daemon weapons lanced toward his prized vessel. With an imagined smile, Tolorak saw the massive collision and his comm. array immediately disconnected. His ship was immediately engulfed in flames and explosions rippled along its hull. The daemon engines within its blue and golden hull exploded and ripped the innards of the vessel asunder.

But Tolorak remained unharmed.

As did all the others of his crew. He and his warriors were safely spread out among the other three ships that had been placed under his command. His former flagship may have been destroyed, but all of the weapons, ammunition, crewmen, and other valuables were absent. Tolorak had ordered everything to be removed from the ship and left only his doppelganger to control the ship after hitting the Slaaneshi vessel with orks. He had even gone so far as to change the transmission channels to make it seem like the Fallen had been connected with Tolorak's original ship up until its last moments.

The scheming sorcerer contacted the other two vessels that his warriors were stationed upon. His navigators opened up channels with him and the viewscreen before Tolorak's face was divided into two sections, one for both of the ships.

'What now Lord Tolorak?' asked one. The sorcerer lord stood and closed his skin-bound tome for the moment.

'We let the Fallen and his friends think that I am dead. Meanwhile, how far have the elder penetrated into the Necron Tombs?'

'Not far; they are still trying to locate its outer gateways as we speak. They have brought more forces than we initially expected. Should we really continue with our forces spread out by that berserker?' asked the one on the left. Tolorak waved the traitor marine's worries away.

'Fear not, what we have now is enough. Please contact the Fallen after this planet makes another rotation and ask him for permission to move our three ships to Gertai II. Tell him you…have a ritual to attend to for the good of the attack. Tell him that we shall open up another front for the Imperials to fight on.'

'Yes Lord Tolorak,' replied the man. Both sections of the screen went blank and Tolorak left the bridge deck of his new flagship, heading for his new personal quarters for a change back into his personal armor. He really would have to thank Kharn for distracting the Fallen and toying with delicately-laid plans and whatnot. It was true what Magnus had said, even if the daemon prince had been talking about a certain brutish primarch: Sometimes a mindless brute is worth more than a thousand sorcerers.

'Kharn the Betrayer…how did a man like that ever become a champion?' Tolorak asked himself quietly. He was baffled at how such a stupid brute could not have gotten himself killed after ten thousand years of trying to do just that. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Tolorak hurried on through the hallway. He had planning to do, and not much time to do it in. There were so many aspects of this ritual to set in place and make virtually out of nothing. Scheming was a strong point of those who followed Tzeench. And it was going to take everything Tolorak could think of to bring this plan to life.

* * *

Wind whipped past the Farseer's helmed head and she heaved a long, frustrated sigh. The rangers still had not found an entrance into the tombs and she was running very short on time. The wraithguard were waiting silently, as always, without even a single whisper among their number. The tow wraithlords waited as well, their weapons aimed all about, wary of anything the metal, robotic monsters might want to throw at them. Dark reapers sat quietly nearby, several dozen of them talking amongst themselves. Even the howling banshees were quiet, Geloa staring off into the distance, her mind lost deep in thought.

Thanwe thought it almost humorous that everything should be so silent, as every old fable had depicted the setting to be. She had never experienced the "deep breath before the plunge" before, and this was a rather unsettling experience. The only audible sound coming from anything was the howling wind that bit at her through the softer, thinner part of her armor. Thanwe shifted uneasily and tried to mentally locate the rangers. Her psychic abilities knew very few drawbacks, and her mental prowess was among the greatest that could be found among all the beings of the entire galaxy. Still, she was unable to find even the slightest trace of the rangers with only her mind.

She gave up on the task and tried to find comfort in the fact that she was surrounded by some of the fiercest warriors in the entire galaxy. These were elder, the most ancient of the protector races. Thanwe refused to believe the orks were as old as the elder. How could green-skinned monsters be as old as the ancient elder race? Not even one of the Chaos Gods was that old! She felt her mind fall silent for a moment and caught a whispering message across the psyche-net from one of the rangers.

'Yes?' she replied calmly. There was a moment's pause before an answer.

'We have located the entrance Farseer Thanwe…but you will not enjoy looking upon it,' said the ranger. Thanwe could hear the tone to his voice.

'We will be there shortly. Please hold your position and secure the area,' she commanded. Raising her staff into the air, she summoned all of her forces to move out and relocate to where the rangers had spoken to Thanwe from. The Farseer hurried on her way, her body filling with all manner of psychic force and power. She knew that there was going to be a fight before this was all over. There was always a fight or battle or extermination when it came to the necron. The C'tan always had another plan. They always had more servants. They always had more hunger.

'Khaine save us,' whispered Thanwe as she made her way down the mountain path. She and Geloa had gained Khaine's eternal favor many years ago in a freezing cave, alone, and in complete darkness. Khaine would not abandon his servants this day. But even as Thanwe thought this, she could not help but fear that something terrible was going to happen…


	18. Chapter 18

Kharn opened up the throttle and his stolen ork warbike roared with torment as it sped up further, its mechanical functions ceasing to be in the safe zone of operation. Kharn didn't care, for Khoria had something that made it impossible for this machine to leave his service: the artifacts stolen from the Slaaneshi whore in that cave a few months ago. She had, quite recently, found that they were part of a set of adeptus mechanicus armor made during the Dark Age of Technology. The two small pieces of ancient technology allowed Kharn's warbike to run on nothing but his life force, and would continue to do so as long as Khoria was in contact with the machine and Kharn at the same time.

The warbike's formerly-silent machine spirit roared to life and the bike's engine glowed with ungodly mechanical power. Kharn had no idea what Khoria was doing to make it push far past its limits, but he did know that it was working. Kharn could see the orks ahead, their warbikes and huge looted vehicles spitting death at the whores that still tried to defend this doomed thing that they called a holy refuge. Kharn held Gorechild out with his left hand and the chainaxe revved noisily, baying for blood and slaughter.

The berserker and his odd companion closed in on the orks, and the green-skinned monsters had no idea what was about to happen. Kharn's eyes glowed with an eerie red fire as the closest ork turned its head to see what was making such a furious noise behind it. Gorechild's arc caught the ork in the shoulder and spinning teeth bit deep into the thing's green hide. Kharn forced his chainaxe deeper into the ork's shoulder and Gorechild was soon spitting pink, fleshy material out of its maw. The ork turned and glared at Kharn before receiving a bolter shell to the head from one of Khoria's looted guns. Kharn withdrew his weapon from the ork's flesh and pulled the front wheel of his warbike into the air.

'Fight me! Fight me like you fight your own tribes!' Kharn yelled as he pulled back the throttle. The only thing keeping the vehicle together was Khoria's strange adeptus mechanicus power. He bellowed a war cry and caught up to one of the larger vehicles. It was covered with orks, many of them at guns that had crudely been mounted on the thing's roof. None of them noticed Kharn running up beside them. The berserker let out a grim sigh and motioned for Khoria to grab his shoulders. She did so and Kharn stood up on the seat of the warbike, which was hissing and beginning to show the effects of sustained overuse. Kharn leapt from the warbike and onto the side of the larger vehicle.

His armored right fist clutched an added decoration and he looked up to find a place to wedge his axe into. The only thing he could find that was anywhere close to being structurally sound enough for that was an ork's face. So he rammed Gorechild into the ork's skull and it held firm. The green monster began to tip backwards and Kharn pulled himself to the roof. He swung Khoria and himself up onto the vehicle and ripped his axe from the ork's skull. And at this time, he was facing down nearly two dozen confused green-skinned orks. Kharn wasted no time.

He sallied forth and felled one with a devastating punch to the brow, caving in a section of its face. Khoria fired quickly into the mass of orks regaining their composure in mad fury. She took three of them down to whatever hell they believed in, but it wasn't enough to even slow them down. Kharn lashed out in a wide arc with his chainaxe, but he soon found himself at a huge disadvantage. Even though most of the orks had forgotten to pick up any type of melee weapons, their fists were still very large and thrown with all the forge of a freight train. Kharn backpedaled briefly and spun left, only to find himself trying to balance on the edge of the machine's roof. He reached forward and grabbed a ork by the tusk, throwing himself forward and the ork off the top of the tank.

Kharn headbutted the nearest ork in the face and sent the brute backwards. It took a lot to knock down an ork, but then again, Kharn was over ten thousand years old and had plenty of strength to do the task with. With every extremity he had to his name, Kharn lashed out and punched and kicked and fought like a wild beast that had been cornered by predators. Khoria's flashing guns made no impact on Kharn's view of the near-hopeless situation. All it would take was one single bolter round to the eye socket and Kharn would be down. His armor was tough, but the eye was a place that couldn't be plated with ceramite. Kharn growled and rammed his horned helm into the mouth of another ork. He shook his head violently and tore up the back of the ork's throat, blood splattering all over his helm.

Kharn tore a swathe of death and destruction through the orks and they began to think twice about their fist-throwing tactic. Several of them had now begun to scrounge up any axes or sharp objects to assail the berserker with. Kharn was, for once, glad that Khoria was with him in this battle. She slew most of those who had grabbed ranged weapons. Still, the orks were beginning to organize themselves, and even a few of the bikers had understood what was going on and decided to help their assailed vehicle. The two Khornate warriors could only do so much, and outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched, they were forced to withdraw from their head-on battle.

Kharn found a hatch on the tank's hull and ripped it open. Khoria dropped inside the vehicle and Kharn swung Gorechild one last time to ward off any would-be attackers. He pulled the hatch shut as he dropped down into the thing's belly. What he found inside made him grin. Instead of more orks, the belly of the mechanical beast was occupied by a single red warbike fitted with half a dozen guns and all manner of extra bits, including curved spikes. There were five or so tiny orks working on the bike and one huge one sitting on what remained of the bench to the side. Kharn drew his combi bolter and the ork tried to raise its own weapon to return fire. Its head exploded in a flurry of fire and shrapnel.

'I'll prep the bike,' said Khoria as he beat the smaller orks to death with her bionic arms and a chainaxe the had managed to find somewhere. Kharn narrowed his gaze when the hatch he had come in by was being unlocked through sheer force from the other side. Kharn growled annoyedly and turned to the rear doors of the tank. He used the rest of his combi bolter's clip and blew the lock mechanism to pieces. The rear doors swung open and Kharn glanced at Khoria.

'Hurry up, woman,' he barked. The enginseer's electoos glowed faintly and she breathed the breath of life into the machine with the clawed artifacts on her hands. The warbike's engines howled to life and Kharn mounted his new metal steed. Khoria wrapped her mecha-limbs around his chest and Kharn, seeing that there was no "reverse" gear, tossed a frag grenade into the front of the vehicle's belly. The explosive detonated and they were pushed out of the machine. Kharn opened up the throttle and his warbike sped forward. Three other ork bikers were waiting up ahead, along with another of the huge vehicles. Kharn raised Gorechild and snarled as loudly as humanly possible.

'Bastard orks! Meet Gorechild's bite like warriors! Get back here cowards!'

* * *

'Canoness! Did you hear that?!' Sister Oria shouted as she cut down another ork with her blade's whirring teeth. Alexa smiled grimly and nodded, gripping _Fiery Heart_ tightly in one hand. She raised her melta pistol and obliterated another ork as it charged toward her. She snarled with disgust for the creature and stepped behind a penitent engine, hoping to find Kharn in the chaos of this battle without having to dodge bullets as well.

Suddenly, from far down the junction of the hallway, there came several more ork vehicles, all painted red and bellowing acrid black smoke and firing guns wildly. Alexa growled with disappointment as she found that there was no red-armored berserker among them. She let out a furious howl and blasted one of the ork bikes with her melta pistol. The machine exploded into smoke and fire, shrapnel and ork parts smashing against the walls. Canoness Alexa was very close to losing control at this moment. She had waited for a very long time to capture Kharn the Betrayer. She would _not_ lose him again.

And out of the smoke and ruin came a horrible cry in bloodlust and Canoness Alexa's entire world stood still. She swung her head around and saw him, the one person in the galaxy she wanted to kill over everything else: Kharn the Betrayer. A manic grin appeared across her features and she felt renewed strength flow through her veins. She would not lose him a second time.

'Sisters! _He_ is here! Capture the traitor!' she roared at the top of her lungs. Sisters Oria, Elia, and Rebecca all rushed to Alexa's side and they waited. The traitor was almost within their grasp. A few more seconds and-

'Sisters! Tarry not with capturing one man!' shouted the Confessor as he pushed them apart and fired his bolt pistol into the orks, particularly too close to Kharn's head. In fact, as Alexa soon realized, he was aiming for the traitor! With hate for Kharn driving her to such lengths as to preserve the traitor's life so that she could make him repent, the Canoness used the only option she had left. She pressed the muzzle of her melta pistol against the Confessor's helm, metal sizzling from the heat.

'Stop firing at the traitor,' Alexa growled harshly. The Confessor stopped and turned his head to the Canoness, clearly confused by the tone of his voice. He had no idea what was going on, nor how deep Alexa's hatred for Kharn ran.

'Sister…this is…' he started. But then he regained all the composure his office had instilled within him over his many years of service. 'Sister, this is heresy to aim your weapon at me! Lower your arm! Making the traitor repent is not worth risking your soul for!' he shouted angrily.

'Then I have no choice but to preserve the chance of his repentance by any means necessary,' replied Canoness Alexa as she squeezed the trigger of her melta pistol. The Confessor's head now had an unsightly hole through it and his brains slopped out of said hole. His corpse fell backward and Alexa shouted orders to anyone who could hear.

'Hold the line! Do not retreat, the Emperor will preserve us!' She looked for Kharn, and much to her horror, found him cutting through the line of sisters like a hot knife through butter. With hatred in her heart, Alexa snarled and called her three most trusted sisters to chase after him. She would have the traitor's head, no matter the cost! She would see him dead and all his sins against the Emperor repented for! She would see Canoness Dalaria avenged this day!


	19. Chapter 19

'There is no hope of making this machine run again, Warmaster,' Khoria said after a careful examination of the horribly mangled warbike that Kharn had driven through this accursed Imperial nightmare machine. He was beginning to wonder whether or not he was going to be able to find his way out if it decided to explode, or whether or not he would go insane before it blew up. With a growl, Kharn waved his arm and Khoria stood, her bionic arms dropping the pieces of scrap metal she'd been examining.

'There is no other option that to press on,' Kharn announced as he assessed the nigh-hopeless situation. Before the warbike had jumped a balcony and crashed into the roof of a small building, Kharn had been able to see the landscape that he was now forced to _walk_ through. He was in a gigantic antechamber containing a holy city of the Imperial cult. It was a huge collection of small worker-houses and all manner of other buildings meant to house and feed and take care of the massive workforce that was required to serve this machine's defenses and mobile capabilities. In the very center was a massive church to the false-Emperor with a large turret mounted atop its spire.

Kharn was currently situated on the outskirts of this city, now in the floor of a small housing unit. His warbike was totaled and he was running low on ammunition. Khoria had taken some damage to the head as well, but nothing seemed very serious. Her arm was bleeding though, rather badly as well. He would have to find something for her, armor of medical supplies. Either one would work until he could equip her in a full suit of whore-armor. Kharn walked up to the nearest door and pushed it open.

On the other side, servitors and Ecclesiarchial servants went about their business as if Kharn wasn't there at all. The automated or mindless things had no idea that he was an enemy. Kharn would have attacked and slain them all if he had been accompanied by a troop of berserkers, or even a single terminator. But, alas, he had only Khoria with him. And she was much more breakable than a berserker. He had to watch over her for the time being and make sure that no more attention was attracted than was at all needed. Kharn sifted through the throngs of mindless servants and made his way down the street, carefully watching for overzealous whores that had managed to detect his presence.

For sure, his crashing into a holy city of the Ecclesiarchy wouldn't go completely unnoticed. And he still had that whore from nearly a year ago trying to kill him. With a growl, he continued on his way toward the huge church in the center of this god-forsaken city. If he made it there, then surely he would be able to find out where the controls for certain systems aboard this thing were…and destroy them. At the very least, he could desecrate a few shrines and gut some priests if there was nothing else of value. Who knew, maybe he would find a weapon worth stealing and corrupting?

Gorechild revved ferociously and Kharn shrugged. Gorechild was a daemon-weapon after all. Using something besides his ancient and favorite axe would be something of an insult to it. He shook the unnecessary thoughts from his head and continued down the street.

'Woman?' Kharn asked his companion. Khoria fell into step beside him and looked up at his helmed face with a smile covered in red blood.

'Yes Warmaster? What is it that you desire?'

'Obtain information from one of these servitors like you did before.'

'I…am unable to fulfill your request, Warmaster,' replied the petite warrior. Kharn narrowed his eyes and growled.

'Why not?' There was a short pause before she replied in a meek and defeated tone.

'They do not have the same mechanical augmentations. They aren't machine enough for me to do it,' she finally said. Kharn spat a curse and then nothing more for the duration of their wandering towards the church alone.

* * *

Meanwhile, Yorrik Phlegmspitter was in a bit of a bind. After arriving in the middle of this vessel, his multiple mouths had been dry and one of his tongues had dried out completely. Everything here was too holy for his poisons and rotting pestilence to do much damage. And to top it all off, everything here was mostly machine, and therefore unable to kill anything outright. He was tired, feeling sick actually. Such a thing was unheard of in the ranks of the Death Guard, but alas it was true! Yorrik's bloated face hurt and another boil of puss popped on his forehead. It steamed and then evaporated into the air.

The Nurglish champion wished that he could find another follower of Chaos to help him out of this accursed tomb. That was all this thing happened to be, a moving tomb. He had found more than enough proof to support that fact time and time again if need be. He looked over at his only remaining guard and nodded to the armored marine. The Chaos-worshiper smashed in the head of a loyalist fanatic going about its daily business and handed the thing to Yorrik. Even though metallic parts and wires didn't bode well with his stomach, Yorrik had to stay as healthy as could be. He had to eat to get the liquids out of this thing. Yorrik opened his gigantic mouth and swallowed the whole corpse without biting it.

Yorrik felt his teeth snap and groaned in pain. He didn't think that he'd make it out of this place before he dried out and fell apart. His bloated body wasn't made for this kind of dehydrating experience. If only Papa Nurgle had provided his servants with a way of resisting holy icons! If only someone would help him! Yorrik slithered on with his slug-like lower body and noticed that there was someone ahead, an armored someone with a woman. Furrowing what would have been the brow on a non-disfigured person, he realized exactly who it was.

'Kharn the Betrayer!' he shouted hoarsely. A first, the berserker stopped and looked around, and then kept walking. But after a bit of persisting annoyance from the woman next to him, Kharn turned and looked at Yorrik. The Nurglish champion looked pathetic in this state, but didn't care. He needed all the help he could get, and that meant Kharn was help enough for now.

'Yorrik? How did you get in this whore-ship? I saw no Death Guard drop pods on the way down.'

'Well…I managed to slip in on a different section of the roof and wander my way in through there. I used a pod like you did, though most of my warriors died before I arrived here,' the Nurglish champion replied. He hoped that would satisfy the brute, although he didn't place his faith in the lie. Kharn pointed his chainaxe at Yorrik's disgusting face.

'Wiping your ass with bullshit is redundant. Tell me the truth,' the berserker spat angrily. Yorrik sighed.

'I have a teleporter on my ship. And since you know about it now, we might as well use it to get both of us out of here. I have yet to find a suitable place to set up the locator beacon. Can you help me find a building that has enough open space to have this accurately set up?' asked the champion, panting with tiredness. Kharn raised his combi bolter to the huge church in the center of the city that rose all around them. Yorrik groaned.

'There, the whores' temple. I'll burn it down before we leave,' stated the berserker. Yorrik had no choice but to follow Kharn and his woman. They were as good as allies could come from another Chaos god's cult. As far as Yorrik getting into the church without being fried to a crisp…he would have to improvise or something on the way. But for now, his goal was to stay alive, and following Kharn was the best way to do that.

* * *

Canoness Alexa was close now, closer than ever before to achieving her vengeance of making Kharn the Betrayer repent for all his sins against the Imperium of Man. Alexa was currently at the fore of a small search party made of her three most trusted sisters: Elia, Oria, and Rebecca. With them were eight other sisters. All the rest were holding back orks at the gateway leading into this holy city. Alexa no longer cared about anyone else that was not involved in the capture of this heretic. So long had she hunted this bastard. And so long had he evaded her grasp.

The Canoness growled with frustration as servitors failed to move out of her way quick enough. Any of the man-machines in her way were swiftly torn asunder with her power mace, _Fiery Heart_. Many would say that Alexa herself was a heretic for killing the Confessor back at the gate. No, the Confessor was the heretic there! He had tried to kill Kharn, instead of making him repent! That simply would not do. People like that needed to be killed and their quarry needed to be made to repent through torture of any shape and form.

Alexa was the perfect Canoness for the job. She had zeal, faith, and above all: perseverance. She had gone nearly a year to find this man and force him to denounce his false-gods and tell her of all his sins and beg for forgiveness. Now it was time. She had him in the middle of a holy city and he was being cornered very quickly. Kharn was probably trying to hide in the grand cathedral where he would make his last stand. Alexa smiled grimly as she remembered what had been put in the basement of the building. She and her sisters had filled the torture chamber to the brim with more…modern devices than had been placed inside of it. Kharn would have hell to pay now.

Alexa hurried on her way, and as she rounded the corner, she slipped and fell flat on her backside. Alexa, not one to take falling as a normal action, sa there for a few moments and pondered what she had slipped in. It was a…trail of slime? She furrowed her brow and stood, following the trail of slime with her eyes until it rounded another corner. There were no servitors or fanatics in this section of the city, not anymore. They had been driven away bu the gunfire up ahead. Alexa's eyes narrowed and she stepped off the trail. She aimed her melta pistol at it and pulled the trigger once her sisters were safely over it.

Fire leapt up from the slime as her pistol's salvo struck it. Flames leapt up and forward, following the trail down the long corridor made by the small buildings to either side. Alexa, finding that the fire quickly smoldered once the slime was gone, followed the trail through the ashes left behind. Whatever made this sickly trail of green slime, it was definitely in league with Kharn. Alexa was going to find it, and as the fire rounded the junction, she heard a terrible scream echo throughout the city.

With mad lust in her eyes, she ran the final steps to the junction and what she found made her eyes go wide with wonder and terror alike.

Before her stood…rather, lay, a giant, bloated thing of Chaos. It's maw was gigantic, nearly the size of a space marine's breastplate. It was filled with teeth and tongues and all manner of disgusting and festering sore. The creature had antlers and a great horn that sprayed vile ichor. Its arms were like giant, bloated tree trunks covered with festering boils and cracked skin. But for all its terrible looks…the thing wheezed and coughed and had blacked skin in most places. It looked like it was dying.

'Kharn, go and get out of here. If _we_ can't, than at least _you_ can escape to fight another day. Gefroth, go with him,' spat the monster from a mouth that was not located on its head, nor its massive belly. Behind it, another large marine in rotting armor hesitated, as if debating whether or not to fight or run. With him stood a berserker in red armor with a brass trim.

'Kharn!' roared Alexa, raising her melta pistol to draw a bead on his leg, only wanting to disable him. But the huge, rotting monster raised one of its arms and the mouth on what looked to be its face smiled. It spoke in a jovial, almost mocking tone.

'Well now, Papa Nurgle would like to play with you girls. I'm sure I have a few diseases that would cause certain parts of you to fountain over with puss and mucus and blood. It would be a shame for such things to go to waste, no?'

'Kill it with fire! For the Emperor!' yelled Alexa as she blasted a huge chunk of meat away from its head. The thing laughed and raised a gigantic hand, one that had large talons connected by webby tissue. It swung with the mighty limb and Alexa raised _Fiery Heart_ to parry. Unfortunately, the thing was maybe ten times stronger than she was, and threw her against a nearby wall. It roared with what sounded like delight and laughter bellowed from its bulbous belly. The rest of the sisters opened up and Alexa raised her melta pistol.

She drew a bead on its belly and smiled with satisfaction.

'Through flame and fury, I prevail, monster!' she said. And as she fired, the creature's insides erupted into red and orange flames, licking up its sides and causing its chest to bubble with black ichor. The creature swept a flaming hand across the line of sisters facing it down and took three of them up in its grasp. With a terrible noise, it threw the three sisters into its fiery maw and crunched down on them through armor and flesh and bone. Their terrible cries died down as the thing let out one last chuckle and then slumped against a nearby wall, fire still burning its tainted, rotting body. Alexa managed to rise to her feet and was helped along by Oria.

'Canoness, is this really so wise? We los our eight sisters…and we have but us four left. Should we not-'

'We have come so far with nothing but faith. The four of us will be more than enough to capture and torture this traitor now that his pet monster is dead. Move forward, pray for our sisters' souls, and remember your faith. I'm counting on you, my sisters. Stand firm and we shall prevail,' said Alexa as she moved on toward the Cathedral of Eternity. _Just a bit longer, Kharn, and then your fate is sealed._


	20. Chapter 20

Kharn cut down another defense servitor and stepped through its shattered and sparking remains. He was very displeased with the fight, or the lack thereof, that they had put up. He growled softly as his boots thudded heavily on the white-tiled floor. Kharn was heading towards the central altar, adorned with hundred of holy icons and a huge mural of the whores' false-Emperor smiting daemons. The berserker cleared out the wooden pews with Gorechild, destroying the oak decorations easily with mica-dragon teeth and hatred.

He activated the teleportation beacon and the thing blinked green. He tossed it to the ground and strolled around within the huge temple. Above his head was an arched dome with a spire atop it. On the ceiling, there were hundreds of small murals that fed into a huge depiction of a living saint. Kharn frowned beneath his horned helm and turned to the altar, which had been held with such honor by the whores and kept in clean condition by their servants. He raised his combi bolter.

Kharn lined up the barrel of his powerful weapon with the head of the depiction of the whores' god: the false-Emperor. He blasted the golden statue's head to pieces. The Deathguard sitting at one of the broken pews heaved a heavy sigh and tinkered with his weapon. Kharn arched a brow. What was the marine so worried about? Kharn blew a hand off the statue and watched the smoking barrel of his gun. It was rather boring in here. He had expected at least a small contingent of whores waiting to greet him.

Unfortunately, he had been greeted with a meager task force meant to be cleaning the temple. Kharn was dissatisfied with the way things were going at the moment. He had a while to wait before the teleportation device actually worked, and then an even longer wait until the teleporter aboard Yorrik's ship ferried them to its hull. And Kharn was fully expecting Yorrik to arrive soon to gripe and moan about how his burns hurt.

'Woman,' Kharn grunted. Khoria immediately moved to his side, servo limbs fidgeting with stolen weaponry. Khoria's bionic green eye glowered at Kharn as tiny numbers and letters flashed across its surface. Kharn clipped his combi bolter to his hip and grabbed Khoria beneath the chin. She smiled softly as Kharn examined her intently. He could find no marks of mutation on her face, nor had any of her vital signs seemed to have changed. So help Yorrik if Kharn found a tentacle growing from beneath her red cloak!

'Are you finifed wif me, Warmafter?' she said, speech impaired by his gauntleted fingers. Kharn turned around silently and blew the sword out of the golden statue's remaining hand. Waiting was always the worst part of a battle. There was never any blood to be drawn, and Kharn's fury and hatred for his foes nearly doubled during the time of calm.

'Come, daemon-spawned wretches! Face the fury of the Ecclesiarchy!' roared a familiar voice from the half-open doorway of the temple. Kharn's lips turned up into a smirk and he swung his combi bolter from his hip. He turned and charged at the doorway, finding three whores standing in its half-open maw. He roared a battle cry and the whores took aim. Their weapons flashed brightly as death was spat from their muzzles. Kharn twisted to dodge, but found the movements unneeded, as the bullets were aimed not for him. He turned his head and saw the Deathguard being torn asunder, entrails spilling out of his rotten body and armor pierced like it was paper.

Kharn leveled his combi bolter with a whore's head and pulled the trigger. There was an unfamiliar _click_, and Kharn realized that his ammunition was wholly gone. He threw his weapon behind him and continued his full charge, Gorechild held in both hands. With rage and spite, he leapt at the first of his foes, chainaxe raised high above his head. He swung, and the whore dodged like an elder banshee. Kharn was mildly surprised when she didn't raise her gun to fire. He swung at the next one, and she rolled out of the way, lashing out with a chainsword meant to decapitate him at the back of the knee.

Kharn blocked with Gorechild and smashed his heavy ceramite boot into her nigh-bare chest. The whore slid across the floor and stopped against one of the pews, blood streaming from her mouth.

Kharn turned to see if the teleportation beacon was ready, and saw that it was blinking furiously, a high-pitched scream echoing from its form. Though he wouldn't like to admit it, Kharn would have to leave this fight to get out of here. He turned and started to sprint to where Khoria was waving her hands about to get his attention. She looked distressed, almost as if she were worried.

'Warmaster! Five seconds left! Hurry!' she yelled. Kharn didn't think he had run any faster in his life, sprinting toward his underling with every step and leap forward. And as Kharn was almost to her, he felt something nearly weightless latch onto him. He dismissed it as the whores trying to stop his escape and pressed on, knowing there were only two seconds left. He suddenly felt a euphoria of different things beginning to take control of his senses, and in a flash, his world was changed entirely.

Colors became sounds. Sounds became smells. Smells became colors. Kharn couldn't tell which way was up, and forward had become backward. The berserker stumbled a few more steps, vaguely seeing a swirling mass of yellow and green and red in his field of vision. He could barely make out Khoria screaming, and then the shrieking of a teleportation beacon. A bright orange filled his spectrum and then disappeared. Kharn writhed about on the floor, trying to regain his senses and make out which way to hit whatever had done this to him. He was going to kill the whore that did this to him! And in the middle of his furious seizure, Kharn's eyesight cleared up. He couldn't tell whose face he was seeing, or even if it was there at all. But he heard the voice, with terrible mirth and hate in it.

'Your servant is gone. You are alone and defeated. The Emperor's grace be upon your sorry corpse as you burn in the fires of whatever hell you choose to believe exists,' said Alexa Corialis to Kharn the Betrayer.

Kharn's blood boiled as he slumped to the floor.

* * *

Kharn opened his eyes feebly and blinked away the tiredness and confusion that had overtaken him. He attempted to raise his hand to his neck to sooth the aching pain there, but found his hand wouldn't obey him. He furrowed his brow and tried once again, finding the same result. He tried his left arm, and found that it too was unable to obey him. Kharn turned his head to see why, and quickly found that he was chained down to something with thick, black chains. Kharn tried his legs, and wasn't at all surprised to find that they were held immobile as well. Kharn took a deep breath and fury filled his body. He wouldn't be kept here, not like this.

And not naked either. Kharn examined his body briefly before realizing that he was stark naked, even his loincloth removed. And the fact that his formerly-dormant genitalia was standing on end was not helping his souring mood. Kharn watched a door in front of him open, revealing a single whore of the Emperor garbed in nothing but a robe that was nearly hanging open.

'Kharn, you know, I've been chasing you around the galaxy for quite some time now,' she said, sauntering over to the chained berserker. She trailed two fingers up his arm, pressing down on his thick muscles intermittently. Kharn snarled and growled, straining as best he could against the metal holding him from throttling her.

'Get your neck down here so I can wring it!' Kharn barked. Alexa leaned down and put her ear to his chest, listening to the erratic beating of his heart. She trailed one hand down between his legs and his heartbeat increased in pace. Kharn growled for her to stop, but she didn't seem to care in the slightest as she toyed with his body.

'I see the numerous, very potent aphrodisiacs have finally worked on you. You space marines are so very hard to get aroused while you're sleeping I'm sure you're wondering exactly why I've done this, right?'

'No, and I will see you bleed by the time you finish your misguided speech,' Kharn bellowed, straining against his bonds with all the force he had left in his body. But he was tired, and hadn't eaten in nearly two days. He was also chained down in a most unforgiving way, with his body bend back slightly so that he couldn't use the full strength his augmented body could provide for his use.

'I'm sure you would…if I hadn't taken precautions so that you couldn't do just that. As you can see, you've been chained down with adamantium chains forged on Mars itself. And the chamber you're in can only been accessed by a Canoness or Confessor. Furthermore, this is a torture chamber, previously used on heretics. Now it can be used for _different_ purposed than to cause pain.' She removed her hand from his body and pulled the drawstring for her silk robe. It fell open to reveal a curvy body, slim waist, thick hips, a robust chest as well. Kharn, at one point in time, would have thought these to be arousing and deserving of his interest. Now, however, he was completely disgusted.

'Whore! I will kill you! Prepare yourself for death!' Kharn thundered, using every ounce of strength left to him to struggle. He knew it was futile, but even so, he tried. He would not be subdued so easily! Not after what he had been through! Not after ten thousand years of endless battle! He would not die at the stake, nor burned alive!

'If we were under different circumstances, then I would believe so. But right now, I am the huntress, and _you_ are the prey. But to further our conversation, I thought of hundred of ways to torture until you repented for your sins like a good dog. And then I thought about your philosophy of eternally drawing blood and slaughtering everything like a berserker. It was at that moment that I realized that torture wouldn't do any good. And after that, I fund a different type of torture to use on you: _pleasure_. And I've pumped you full of enough aphrodisiacs to make sure that I get every, little, confession out of you,' she sneered, clambering onto Kharn's body to straddle his hips.

'If. You. Dare. Try!' Kharn snarled with hate dripping from every single syllable. Alexa put a hand to Kharn's scarred chest and leaned down, blowing hot, lustful breath up the side of his neck. Kharn narrowed his eyes as she stared at him through his ancient helm. Kharn tried to head-butt her in the nose and smash her skull, but a chain looped around his neck kept him down. Alexa snickered quietly to herself and proper herself up on her elbows, breasts rubbing against Kharn's skin. He berserker growled low, but was unable to do anything to prevent her from doing so.

'Kharn, I don't know how long it's been since I was this excited. You are simply too good an opportunity to pass up. Now tell me of your sins, from the very beginning. Or I'll take off your helmet,' she threatened sweetly. Kharn thrashed about, but Alexa only giggled at his protests.

'No! I will not have you torture me!' Kharn bellowed. Alexa grabbed his helmet and pulled it off his head. She smirked down at him, and Kharn glared up at her with red, hateful eyes. His glare rivaled that of a red giant star. Alexa whispered another request for confessions to him, and he tried at biting her with his fanged teeth. He almost caught her in the ear, but failed at it.

'Oh, then if you'll be this uncooperative, I'll have to mount you. Are you sure you don't want to confess?' questioned the canoness. Kharn glared and Alexa shrugged as if it were nothing less than a minor inconvenience instead of one's soul riding on the fence. She raised her hips and grinned broadly as she sank down to him. Kharn gritted his teeth to keep from biting his tongue off as he furiously pulled at the chains holding him down. Alexa cried out in pain as her virginity went to Kharn. She began laughing, but it was not joyous or even happy. She was laughing with insane lust. She bucked her hips against his and glared down at him.

'Whore! Your false-Emperor will not be able to save you when I get free!'

'I'll have you confessing to your sins long before then, Kharn. I assure you that my faith will outlast your physical endurance,' she sneered. Alexa leaned down and pressed her front to Kharn's, hands roving over his body. Kharn shook with rage. His body was much too sensitive because of the aphrodisiacs. Normally, his skin would have the receptiveness of a piece of tanned leather. Right now, however, his body was not acting normally. Kharn would have crushed this woman's head in a second if his arms were not tied down. Alexa calmed herself with a deep breath and hugged herself to Kharn's chest.

'Whore!'

'I _will_ make you repent, or I _will_ make you suffer. You'll not get out of my grasp so easily, Kharn. Sit back and enjoy your torture. After this, we'll use toys to make you repent,' she said, a glimmer in her eyes that Kharn hadn't seen in a woman's eyes in over ten thousand years. Kharn's entire body went stiff as he tried again to break the chains that held him down. Without his helm to dampen the sounds around him and allow his rage to be personal, he could hear every little noise.

There was a tiny, dull hum of the great engines that drove the fortress-city forward in the background. The chains around his body clinked and clanked noisily. The metal cross he was bound to shrieked in protest to his warping of its surface. He could hear the moans and laughter of the woman straddling his hips. He could hear the wet grinding of flesh against flesh. He could hear what madness truly was. Kharn tried to drown out the noises building up all around him, and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

'Khorne! Why have you forsaken me?!'


End file.
